


Crazy Eights

by spikes_heart



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-02-09 20:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 33,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18645967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikes_heart/pseuds/spikes_heart
Summary: Spike is not chipped and not souled. Buffy never died. The relationship between Spike and Buffy is cautiously friendly. Spike NEVER attempted to rape Buffy. Angel and Dru are out of the picture. Don’t even know if there is a Dawn, Glory never existed. Joyce may or may not be deceased. Nobody’s heard of The First. The story is like a game of Crazy Eights with everything wild, and I’ll most definitely change the game rules as I go alone. **grins**This was the original summary when the incomplete fic was posted in 2004 (you know, way back before there was fire). It mainly holds true today (2019) with the addition of a small appearance by Angel.





	1. Bleeding Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Crazy Eights has been knocking around, unfinished, since 2004. Talk about WRITER'S BLOCK. Well, I set to it with good intentions this past month, and Lo and Behold, it is now COMPLETE. I have deleted the original 11 chapters. They have since been shredded and mended by a pair of wonderful betas - [Twinkles](https://dark-solace.org/elysian/viewuser.php?uid=18276), who is also responsible for my wonderful new banner and [stalwartsandall](https://dark-solace.org/elysian/viewuser.php?uid=21885). No red pencil used here - more like a red scythe!
> 
> If any errors still remain, it's all due to my post beta fiddling, or old, old eyes.
> 
> Read on, my friends. I hope you enjoy the new and improved (and yes, I reiterate: complete) version of Crazy Eights

‘Bored, bored, bored.’ The phrase thumped through her restless mind, in time with the swinging of her arms as she walked. Turning into Restfield cemetery – his cemetery – the Slayer realized what had been niggling at her for hours – Spike wasn’t with her. Had he offered to meet her for patrol tonight? He often did these days. Unsure, she headed towards his crypt, to see what was up.

She was in sight of his crypt when she tripped, her foot hitting something soft and squishy. It resembled a large pile of dark, wet rags. As she bent down to investigate, the coppery smell overwhelmed her… blood. Lots and lots of blood, and relatively fresh at that.

Wishing she had a large stick to prod the pile of rags with, Buffy gingerly reached out to remove the topmost piece of bloody cloth from the pile. What she saw made her turn her head and her stomach roil.

Spike’s platinum hair was almost unrecognizable, completely saturated with congealing blood. His left cheekbone had been crushed and he’d been gagged with what looked to be his own red silk button-down. His arms had been tied behind his back with sufficient force to dislocate both shoulders, and his right leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.

Buffy removed the gag and gently pulled up his sodden t-shirt, running her fingertips gently over the vampire’s bruised and mangled torso, from his chest to his pelvis. Nauseous, she ascertained that at least three of his ribs had been broken and he’d been stabbed several times for good measure.

As her hands fluttered nervously over his belt, Buffy felt a cold knot of fear form in her belly. She had no issue performing a perfunctory exam of Spike’s lower anatomy, but she was hesitant to expose the unconscious and bloodied vampire further in the unprotected open space of the graveyard. A quick glance at the lightening sky added a sense of urgency to her movements.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” she whispered over and over again as she hoisted his broken body over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She practically sprinted towards his crypt, grateful for his unconscious state; the pain from his broken ribs and limbs would have been devastating.

She edged her way into the crypt, careful not to jostle Spike anymore than she had to. Knowing there was no way to get them both down to his bed on the lower level, she made do with the stone sarcophagus.

Grabbing blankets and pillows from the battered sofa, she arranged them as best she could with her one available arm, and then gently deposited the vampire in the middle of the nest of the bedding. Mindful of his injured right leg, she straightened the limb out and took stock. He’d not made a sound since she tripped over him in the graveyard. Skin mottled with bruises, flowering against the almost translucent white, Spike looked well and truly dead.

Despite the fear still coiling in her belly, she knew what had to be done. She had to assess the damage to the rest of his body. Taking a deep breath, she unbuckled his belt, and opened the buttons of his fly. Gently reaching under the comatose vampire, she managed to ease his jeans down to his knees. Swiftly tugging off his boots, she removed the jeans altogether.

What she saw did nothing to assuage the roiling mess in her stomach. Dark bruises marred the skin covering each of the vampire’s delicate hipbones. Peeriing closer, she could discern the shape of individual fingers in the bruising. His groin, penis and sac were covered in bloody welts, indicative of a whipping of some sort. Gently rocking his body to one side, Buffy found similar welts over his entire back, worsening in intensity towards his buttocks. The oozing blood was suggestive of intimate damage.

She knew she had to get him cleaned up – and fed.

There was no bathroom to speak of, but Spike had jury-rigged a running shower. The Slayer got to work: grabbing a bowl of warm water and a stack of towels, and rummaging around the crypt until she found Spike’s first aid kit. Lots of fresh bandages and gauze, some needles and thread – it wasn’t pretty, but aided by vampire healing, it would suffice.

She set about her task with the air of someone who’d spent far too much time around battlefield injuries. Placing a towel under Spike’s head to catch the excess, Buffy poured warm liquid through the injured vampire’s bloody hair, gently sluicing away the blood and gore, and trying to assess the damage to his skull. She’d found a nasty gash – probably the one responsible for all the blood in the first place. While the wound still oozed, it was well on its way to closing with no intervention necessary.

Running a clean towel lightly over his face, skimming the shattered cheekbone and torn lips, Buffy felt tears begin to form. Seeing his familiar face so damaged broke her heart. Spike was a pain in the ass, but she couldn’t imagine what he’d done to deserve a beating this severe. She also didn’t like thinking about who or what could possibly have overpowered him – more than likely a whole bunch of someones or somethings. A whole bunch of someones or somethings who clearly delighted in causing pain. 

She knew his dislocated shoulders needed to be popped back into place, but they would have to wait until his ribs had healed enough for him to sit up on his own. Taking care not to jostle his torso more than necessary, Buffy grabbed the scissors from the first aid kit and cut away the remains of his bloodies black t-shirt.

There was so much bruising, he looked like he was wearing a tie-dyed shirt. A few soft swipes of the towel revealed three deep stab wounds that required stitching. With a shaky hand, the nervous Slayer stitched the wounds closed, with nary a peep nor twitch from the patient.

“Saved the best - worst for last,” she mumbled. Replacing the cooled water in the bowl with warm, she swiftly washed his genitals, wincing at the still-oozing welts. She rolled Spike gently onto his side and wiped down his back. Gently prising his cheeks apart, she delicately cleansed the damage there. The bleeding had stopped, which she took as a good sign.

“If someone had told me a week ago that I would be playing Nurse Buffy and to an injured vampire at that, I’d have laughed in their face.” She shook her head in disbelief. “If _you’d_ told me that I’d be playing Nurse Buffy, I’d have smacked you across your smirky face.”

Her eyes meandered over his damaged flesh. “Now, I just wish you’d open your stupid blue eyes and say something about my hands finally being on your ass.”

Sighing, she resettled the immobile vampire on his back and tucked the comforter around him. It wouldn’t do much for warmth, but it would be a soft barrier between him and the rest of the world.

She headed to Spike’s fridge. He’d clearly lost a lot of of blood and he wouldn’t heal unless he was fed. Finding a handful of containers, she placed two in the microwave that her mother had gifted him for last Christmas and pushed the button marked with red nail polish to read: ‘Blood.’

She found a straw – and not bothering with a mug – brought the containers over to the sarcophagus. Settling in behind Spike and cradling his head against her chest, she raised the container to his face.

“C’mon, Spike. Wakey wakey! Chow time. Lots of nummy blood to make you grow big and strong,” she cajoled, to no effect. Dipping her finger into the viscous fluid, she swiped it gently against his lips and tried again. “Please, Spike. You’ve got to snap out of it. If you don’t eat, you won’t heal. You’ve got to get better, and tell me what happened. I think I really need to put the hurt on whatever did this to you.”

Just as she was about to give up, she felt his lips twitch slightly. Encouraged, she re-dipped her finger into the blood and tried again. No doubt about it, this time he swiped his tongue around her finger, swallowing the blood. Coating the end of the straw in the blood, she placed it against the vampire’s lips. He suckled the life-giving fluid noisily and groaned in disappointment when the container was emptied.

“You want more, ya big glutton?” Buffy teased. Taking his grunt for an affirmative, she placed the straw in the second container and held it for him. He finished that container in record time and settled back into his nest of blankets, the effort to feed apparently taking all of strength.

“That’s all right, Spike,” she murmured. “You sleep and feel better. We’ll talk when you wake up.”

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion now that the immediate crisis was over, Buffy settled herself on the sarcophagus to watch the now peacefully sleeping vampire.


	2. A Fistful of Diamonds

Buffy awoke slowly – strangely – unable to move. Wriggling in her restraints, she realized exactly where she was and the reason for her immobility.. Somehow, in the middle of the night, Spike had awoken, spooned up behind her and gathered her into his arms.

Gently disengaging herself from his grasp, she eased off the sarcophagus to check on her patient.

Her first glimpse was promising. Some of the bruising and swelling had gone down and his cheekbone seemed to be rebuilding itself. However, his face still bore a permanent grimace of pain, which Buffy suspected must be his dislocated shoulders.

Running her fingers through the riot of curls on the sleeping vampire’s head, she said, “Spike, you need to wake up. We’ve got to do something about your shoulders. There’s no way you can be comfortable lying on them.”

His response was a groggy, “Bloody hell,” as he attempted to do so. “Lend a hand here, pet. Seem to be havin’ some difficulty getting upright.”

“Spike, what the hell happened to you? If I hadn’t’ve tripped over you last night, you’d’ve dusted in the sun, or bled to dust.” Buffy snaked her arm around his thin waist, and helped to push him into a sitting position. “What did you do to piss someone off so badly?” she asked, sympathy coloring the words that were harsher than she’d meant.

“Don’t rightly remember.” He shook his head, confused. “Went to a new club for a few games of poker and I must’ve won more than they wanted to pay out.” He groaned, trying to stretch out his back. “D’ya think you could help me reset the shoulders? Can’t do myself with both of ‘em out.”

One after the other, Buffy raised his arms, pulling them out slightly to realign things, and then pushed forward with all her weight behind her, to pop the shoulder back into its socket.

“Bloody, buggering FUCK!”

Spike rolled his shoulders and twisted his torso from side to side, gingerly testing out the function of his arms. “Better, luv. Thanks for the pain and suffering.”

“I’m really sorry for hurting you, Spike. There was just no –”

Cutting off her apology, he said, “No worries – been through worse in the day. Pain might linger for a bit – but give me a day or so and I’ll be right as rain.” He cast a searching eye around the crypt and asked, “Can do me a favor, pet?”

“Can it wait until after I stop off at home? I’ve got to let Mom know I’m still alive. She’s still not thrilled when I stay out all night.”

“No worries, pet. Just want you to find my duster, if you can.” He shifted, uncomfortably. “I get that it’s not your favorite piece of m’wardrobe, knowing how I came across it, but I’ve had it near thirty years. S’more of an homage these days, than a trophy piece.”

Buffy simply nodded. “Doesn’t matter, Spike. It’s a coat. If someone or something hasn’t stolen it I’ll bring it back.” Assessing the state of him, she added, “You okay for now?”

“I’ll manage. Think I’ll give the shower a go.” Flexing his left leg, he grimaced. “Leg’s a mite tender. If I remember right, the buggers broke it with a baseball bat. Feels like you set it good and proper, though. See you later, Slayer, and thanks for… well, everything.”

“Later, Spike,” Buffy said, smiling fondly. “I’ll pick you up some human blood from Willy’s to help the healing along.”

~*~

Waving her out the door, Spike attempted to stand – and realized for the first time he’d been conversing with the girl whilst starkers. And it hadn’t phased her one bit. Looking down at his Technicolor body, he noticed the sets of stitches and remembered. Three stab wounds.

He tried to catalog his injuries; to remember what happened. Bat to the head and face – healing. Broken leg and dislocated shoulders – reset and also healing. Busted ribs – aching, but healing. All good so far. Running his fingers over the knife wounds, he realized he’d be able to remove the stitches the next day. Quite the little seamstress, Buffy was. He also remembered her forcing him to eat a couple of containers of blood, which had gone a fair way towards healing his injuries.

He’d made it down to the lower level of the crypt and that’s when the waves of nausea hit. There was more – much more – to the injuries he’d received. He’d felt it when he climbed down the ladder. His bits and pieces… bruised beyond all recognition. And he remembered them being grabbed and twisted all but torn off. His stomach lurched as he recalled trying to fight when he realized what they were after, recalled being held down by four men, ripped into and buggered dry by the rest of the pack.

And Buffy had seen the wounds. She knew what had been done to him – and … 

Vomiting up whatever remained in his stomach and sobbing wildly, he stumbled into the shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Stepping under the burning spray, he never heard Buffy re-enter the crypt.

~*~

“Spike?” she called out. “You downstairs?” Hearing the shower running, Buffy deposited the retrieved duster on the couch, and climbed down to the lower level, calling out his name again.

She approached the shower cautiously. “Spike, you in there?” Hearing sobbing she pulled open the curtain and found the distraught vampire huddled against the wall, hot water cascading over his reddening skin.

Buffy turned off the water, wrapped a towel around Spike’s waist, and led him to the bed. He tried to push her away, but she held on tight, whispering words of comfort, making shushing sounds and crooning softly to him, gentling him as best she could.

Settling him under the covers, she said, “Spike, it’s over. It’s gonna be okay, I promise. It’s not your fault.”

Looking up at her with the most wretched expression she had ever seen, he whispered, “But you saw… what they did to me. You touched me – their filth –” he broke off abruptly, unable to continue.

Buffy slid into the bed next to the overcome vampire – and hugged him tightly to her. “All I did was clean you up. Had to make sure you were okay. I’d have done the same for any of the Scoobies. Nothing’s changed, Spike.”

Pulling back a little, she placed a hand under his chin and tilted his face upwards so he could see her. “We’ve got history, Spike. You may be a pain in the ass, but you’re my pain in the ass. Nobody does this to someone I care about. We’ll find out what’s behind all of this, I swear it.”

Feeling him relax somewhat, she pulled something out of her pocket.

“One more thing if you can – before you go back to sleep. When I found your duster, there were cards scattered all around the area. All of them diamonds, now that I think about it. Do you have any idea what they mean?”

“I took a deck from that club – The Crazy Eights – as a souvenir. I guess they took exception to me lifting it.” Taking a deep, unneeded breath Spike added, “And when they were done with me, the bastards threw those cards at me. I think they took back the deck I had. Don’t rightly remember.”

As she watched him slip quietly into slumber, Buffy covered him gently with his blanket. She climbed up the ladder and closed the vault door behind her. There was something seriously wrong in the Sunnydale demon world and she had to look into it.


	3. Game of Spades

The little bell over the door of The Magic Box announced Buffy’s arrival. Quickly scanning the room, she located her Watcher behind the counter, sorting out the day’s receipts.

“Hey, Giles. We got trouble.”

Looking up from his paperwork, Giles cast a concerned look in his Slayer’s direction. “New demon?”

“An old one, actually, or more accurately, a familiar one. It’s Spike. I ran into him last –”

Cutting her off mid-sentence, Giles expression was one of utter disdain. “How many times to I have to tell you, Buffy – that it’s not a good idea to ‘hang out’ with that bleached menace? Just because he’s not actively seeking to end your life as he did –”

This time it was Buffy’s turn to interrupt. “Stop with the same old party line already, Giles. You’ve got to actually hear what I’m saying. Whether or not you approve of me spending time with Spike is not the issue. What’s important is that when I said ‘I ran into Spike last night’ – it was in that literal kinda way. Stuck my foot into a bloody puddle of vampire. He’d been attacked.”

“And this should concern us why, Buffy,” the irritated Watcher asked. “He’s a vampire. If he gets into a scrape, he’ll either heal or dust – thereby becoming one less problem for you.”

Taking a deep breath to keep her temper in check, the angered young woman said, “You’re supposed to be working with me, Giles. As my Watcher. If I tell you that a vampire is watching my back on a nightly basis and I’ve come to trust in him to do so – maybe you need to accept that. Working with the helpful vampire is a lot smarter than taking away a piece of my support system.

“Spike said it, himself. A Slayer with family and friends is not of the normal. But it is - for _me_. I depend on you guys to back me up. Having to worry about you fighting each other, as well as the demons and other night-bumpy things is not helpful.”

Looking faintly chastened, Giles sighed. “Point taken. I’ll try and restrain myself from denigrating Spike out of hand.” Chin rising stubbornly, he qualified, “Unless it’s warranted.”

“Okay,” Buffy nodded in agreement. “But what I’m trying to tell you is that Spike didn’t just get ‘into a scrape’. He was beaten to within an inch of his unlife. And you’re always telling me what a powerful foe he is – wily and cunning enough to last over 120 years. So riddle me this – if there’s something out there strong enough to take out a Master Vampire, shouldn’t we look into it?”

“Yes,” Giles agreed finally. “I believe we should.” Taking a breath he added, “How badly hurt was he?”

“Bad.”

“Bad enough to warrant you staying at Spike’s crypt all night? Your mother called, frantic with worry.”

“He was really bad, Giles. I didn’t feel right leaving him unprotected overnight. And I’ve aleady stopped by home to let Mom know I’m okay. She’s fine now. She’s got a soft spot where Spike is concerned.”

“Clearly a genetic trait,” Giles murmured.

Ignoring him, Buffy plowed on, “Anyway – here’s the clue-age: when I went looking for Spike’s duster, I found it and the surrounding area covered in playing cards. And they were all the same suit – diamonds. Spike told me he’d played poker at some new place called Crazy Eights. Apparently, he won pretty big and they weren’t all that keen on paying out his winnings. Oh! And he swiped a deck of cards to keel as a souvenir, and he thinks that’s why they beat him up.”

Perplexed, Giles asked, “Why would they come after a patron for a deck of cards? Most clubs give them away – advertising for their establishment.”

“Weird, right?” said Buffy. “Spike thinks they took them back after the beating.”

“Seems an awful lot of trouble to retrieve a deck of cards,” Giles said pensively.

“I think I’m gonna go back to the crypt and see how Spike’s doing. Maybe he’ll have remembered something else about last night. Just do me a favor – if you see any of the gang, fill them in and ask if they’ve heard of The Crazy Eights.”

“All right, Buffy. Just be careful. Whoever attacked Spike might still be around.”

With her Watcher’s last words echoing in her ears, Buffy felt decidedly uneasy, and quickened her pace as she approached the crypt. She entered cautiously and looked around the upper level for signs of intruders. Seeing nothing awry, she climbed down the ladder and let out a small sigh of relief upon seeing Spike asleep in his bed.

He was flipped over on his belly, sprawled out like a starfish, a thin sheet covering his backside, Buffy could see the welts had mostly healed and bruises had lightened, considerably. His position spoke volumes. Leg, ribs, belly, shoulders and cheekbone had healed enough that movement didn’t jerk him awake with pain. All of the good.

She headed for the bed, ready to flop down next to him but paused. After what he’d been through, she thought it only wise not to startle him. Softly she called.

“Spike, can you wake up? I need to speak with you.”

Several incoherent mumbles and one vertebrae cracking stretch later, the sleepy vampire rolled onto his side, his sheet slipping dangerously low on his hips – his hips which were no longer so badly bruised, Buffy noticed, her cheeks flushing.

“C’mere, pet.” Patting the mattress beside him, he motioned for her to sit. “Won’t bite unless you ask.”

Buffy stood, rooted to the spot. Good grief, she thought. Wonder if he has a clue as to what he looks like waking up. Tousled curls, heavy-lidded eyes, pretty pink lips – and that damned, traitorous sheet. She could swear it was moving lower all the time. She stifled the urge to wipe the drool from the corners of her mouth.

Clearly noting the Slayer’s hesitation, Spike frowned and his expression shifted, his face suddenly awash with shame. He lowered his head.

“S’okay, luv. You don’t have to sit near me.” He reached for the sheet, pulling it around his body.

The movement of the sheet snapped Buffy out of her daze. Rushing forward to sit on the bed, she gently gripped his shoulders, careful not to cause him any undue pain.

“Oh god, Spike – no. I don’t have a problem with you – in fact, it’s quite the opposite. Just look at you. I mean, if you could, which you can’t, what with the whole lack of reflection thing.” Buffy knew she was babbling, but she had to make herself clear before he withdrew into himself. “I can’t believe how much better you look this afternoon. The swelling is down in your face, and the bruising on your chest is fading. You look good.

“And before you think I’m just telling you what you want to hear, think about this. When have I ever lied to you? I’ve always called a spade a spade. We certainly argue too much for you to think otherwise. You know I’m not all placatey-Buffy.”

He raised his eyes to meet hers, clearly seeing the truth in her statement. With a small sigh, he sat up and enfolded the tiny blonde in a soft embrace. Eyes closed, he murmured, “Thanks, Buffy – for caring enough to… for givin’ a damn.”

Pulling back slightly from their embrace, she said, “Listen, Spike. I asked Giles if he’s heard of this Crazy Eights place. I told him you had a really bad run in with some of their enforcers, and he thinks they could still be after you. I’d feel better if you came back to the house with me. Mom’ll be fine with it for a while. We’ve got a spare room we can sun proof for you.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, mind, but I can take care of m’self, pet.”

“I know you can, silly. It’s not that so much as, I think I’d just feel better if we worked closely to find out just what the what is with this new place. And I don’t have to go looking for you if you’re already at the house. Please, Spike, if only for a little while.”

“Never been good at refusing you, have I?” He smiled, acquiescing.


	4. A New Club in Town

While throwing a few belongings into his duffel bag, Spike decided it would be a good idea to feed before he left the crypt. At this point in his unlife, he no longer needed to eat daily, but the added blood was a big plus in healing his injuries. Warming the two containers he had left in the fridge, he sought out the Slayer.

“Pet, since we don’t know how long I’ll be residin’ at Casa Summers, m’gonna need to make some eating arrangements.”

“We can stop by Willy’s on the way.” A shadow crossed her face as she had a troubling thought. “Spike, can you afford this? I mean, I’ve never given it much thought before – but it’s not like you have a steady income. And I know that Willy does _not_ make with the demon philanthropy.”

He pulled a small roll of cash from a hidden inner pocket in his duster’s lining, rolling it around between his fingers. Cocking his head, he mused, “It’s strange, innit – those blokes went to the trouble of smashing me to bits and going through m’duster to take back a soddin’ deck of cards, but they left the dosh I’d won.”

“I guess that’s the Scooby mystery of the week,” Buffy answered. “Why don’t we get this settled with Mom, and then head over to The Magic Box and see if anyone’s got a clue.”

Shifting uncomfortably, the vampire mumbled, “Not sure that’s the best course to take, Buffy. Your mates don’t like me. They hate the fact that we spend any time together, and they damned well resent the fact that we patrol together – that you trust me enough to watch your back.”

He sighed and kicked at the ground. “Truth be told, I don’t want them finding out what’s been done to me. The witches might have a sympathetic moment, but Harris? He’ll not let me move past this. Can hear the whelp now,” he mocked, “always knew you were a bitch, Fangface.”

Buffy stood by, watching the agitated vampire attempt to mask his growing distress. From what she recalled from her Psychology textbook, victims of sexual abuse often had issues with self-esteem and helplessness that manifested in bursts of anger.

With his reputation as one quarter of the Scourge of Europe, Spike’s powerlessness in the hands of his captors must have been devastating to him. The best thing she could do for him, she surmised, was to let him vent.

“Bloody hell, Slayer – I can’t do this. S’not like I haven’t had worse done to me in my time; vamps and other demons near killed me on a regular basis when I was a fledge. 

“But I’ve been an apex predator a hundred plus years. And these bastards were humans, my prey. Only ‘bout a dozen of ‘em fucked me into the ground.” He pleaded, head bowed low in a gesture of defeat. “And now I’m supposed to bare my secrets to the kiddie brigade and expect them to help me?”

Buffy shook her head. “They don’t have to know what happened, Spike. It’s none of their business. And showing up bruised or bloody is kinda the Scooby norm.

“They know what it’s like to be outnumbered and outgunned. Every time they go out patrolling, they fear running into even one vampire. You faced a dozen men and un-lived to tell the tale. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Spike stared wordlessly into her hazel eyes, as if searching for something. Then, clearly exhausted and shaken after his outburst, the emotionally spent vampire wrapped his arms around Buffy’s slender shoulders and pulled her in for an hug.

Buffy didn’t resist. She responded by wrapping her arms around Spike’s waist and nestled into the embrace.

When they parted, they wore mirrored expressions of surprised awe.

Flustered, Buffy was the first to break the spell. “Well that… that was new, Spike. We’ve never –”

“Don’t, Slayer. Don’t apologize for actually touching me outside of sparring or slaying unless you’re bloody well sorry it happened.” No longer stunned, his expression was rapidly turning to one of hurt and anger, his arms wrapping around his body as if to protect himself from the forthcoming rejection.

“I’m _not_ sorry that it happened, Spike. Surprised is all. I mean, we’re been friends for a while – what with the neither of us wanting to kill each other. And obviously we care enough about each other to want to protect and defend. But, it’s just, we’ve never really touched each other outside of, you know, applying bodily harm.”

Looking a bit discomfited, she continued, “The hug was… well, something different. Not bad – just… different. I’m sorry if – ”

“Ah, luv,” he interrupted. “Not complaining here, just surprised that you allowed it, is all. His scarred eyebrow lifted suggestively. Happy to have you pressed up against me whenever you’re willing.”

His velvety rich baritone had softened to a honeyed purr and Buffy felt her body react – suddenly on edge and wanting, picturing slowly divesting the yummy vampire of all his clothes and climbing on board.

The image was beyond confusing. And Buffy rapidly elected to change the subject, bluring out, “Yeah, we should get moving! Mom’s expecting us both and I don’t want her to worry more than she normally does.”

Spike simply nodded, retrieved his duffel bag, and headed for the door.

~*~

“Hello, Spike.” A smiling Joyce greeted them at the door. “Welcome to our home.”

The invitation – freely offered with no hesitation… even though it was unnecessary warmed the vampire’s unbeating heart. Outside of the axe incident, he and Joyce got on well.

Even before Spike had formed an alliance with the Slayer, her mother had always made time for him. She’d listened to him pour out his heart over Drusilla’s betrayal and abandonment. They’d shared an interest in art and sculpture, discussing her work at the gallery.

In fact, it was over a shared cuppa with Joyce that Buffy had come to accept him into her own life. She’d come home after a night at the Bronze, and found him and her mother discussing Shakespeare’s dark lady and Sonnet 131. Buffy, who was studying the sonnets with a Professor Okati, joined the discussion. Wanting to continue the debate about the final couplet and unfortunate infatuation, but needing to patrol, Buffy had asked Spike to tag along on a quick lap of the cemeteries. It was the beginning of… whatever it was they shared. An understanding, companionship… trust.

A slight nudge from behind told Spike he’d been caught out daydreaming, and he offered his thanks as he walked into the house.

Joyce was in full hostess mode. “I’ve set up the spare room for you, Spike. I found some blackout shades and heavy curtains that will keep the sun from being an issue for you. Do you need anything else? Food? First aid?”

“M’fine, Joyce. Your daughter makes a right decent nurse, but thanks for askin’.”

Joyce turned to Buffy. “I’m going back to the gallery this evening for inventory.” She headed for the door, then paused. “I know you have to investigate what happened to Spike, but I want you to make sure you’re careful. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

~*~

As soon as the door closed behind her mother, Buffy turned her attention to Spike. “I’m going to check in with Giles; why don’t you settle in.”

“Will do, pet. The leg’s twinging a bit. I’m goin’ to rest up.” Heading for the stairs, he called, “Let me know when it’s time to leave.”

Buffy dialed The Magic Box. “Hey Giles. Any news for me?”

“There’s not much known about The Crazy Eights. Apparently, it’s a new club that caters to both demons and humans. A couple of steps up from Willy’s.”

Buffy could hear the telltale sound of glasses being polished, before Giles added, “I don’t suppose Spike has mentioned exactly where this establishment is located?”

“No, he hasn’t. But I’ve been more concerned with letting him heal enough to walk rather than interrogating him up to this point.”

“The Crazy Eights is located in Spike’s old factory. The top floor has been turned into a bar that serves both food and drink, and probably several other substances that don’t bear looking into too closely. It’s the basement that holds the gaming tables, complete with back rooms.

“I’ve spoken with Xander and Willow – told them what happened and that you’re going to investigate the club. Both are willing to accompany you.”

“Glad to have the backup.” Buffy sucked in a slightly apprehensive breath. “I’ve got a feeling there’s more involved than a simple case of vamp-beating.”

She called Xander, then Willow, and settled back await their arrival.


	5. An Ace in the Hole

About an hour later, the doorbell rang. Buffy roused herself and Spike, and they greeted Xander and Willow at the door.

Walking in. Xander sniggered as he passed the vampire. “Losing your touch, eh Spike?” He turned to Buffy. “Your Big Bad Best Friend looks a little worse for wear.”

Before Spike could even open his mouth, a small blonde tornado leapt into the fray.

“Shut it, Xander. Not one more word out of you,” she fumed. “I asked you to come over – not to harass Spike – but because it’s important. You don’t like him, that’s your business, but he’s a guest in my home and you don’t get to treat him like garbage.”

“Whoa, Buffster.” Xander held up his hands in mock-surrender. “He’s a soulless creature of the night; it’s not like I can hurt his widdle feelings.”

Buffy glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder at the silent vampire, who was busy looking at a very interesting spot on her carpet, then back to the annoyed man in front of her.

“Why do you keep pushing? There is absolutely no reason for this animosity.”

“But he’s a vampire, Buff. An evil, soulless Master Vampire who’d as soon rip our throats out as…”

Willow stepped forward. “Xander, maybe you need to step back and let it go for now. I mean, Buffy asked us here for a reason. She said it was important so maybe we should all focus on the problem, instead of your Spike grudge.”

Grateful for the interruption, Buffy forged ahead. “Thanks, Will. We do have a problem. The Crazy Eights.”

Turning to Spike, she said, “And question for you, my fine fanged friend – why didn’t you tell me this club is located in your old haunt?”

“You never asked.”

She glared in response. “Well, what can you tell us about the place? Entrances? Demon varieties? Types of weapons we should bring to the party?”

“M’not sure about other entrances, but the main one has a metal detector, manned at all times. Means no blades. Have to be stakes all around.”

“Um, Spike?” ventured Willow, nervously, “just a thought, but do you think this is wise? Going back to the establishment that had you attacked?”

“Probably not, Red, but I just can’t let them get away with this. And it makes no sense that they came after me over a soddin’ deck of playing cards. Something’s up, and it needs lookin’ into.”

Glaring at Xander, he said, “You gonna be able to control your gob, whelp? Place’ll be heaving with demons and that hole of yours’ll put the Slayer in danger if it goes off at the wrong time.”

His jaw clenched in an attempt to stay in control, Xander simply nodded.

“Guys, please,” Buffy said, grabbing a stash of stakes and shepherding them all out of the house. “Let’s call a timeout in the pissing match and get this show on the road.”

~*~

Xander surveyed the factory and grumbled, “This is the hottest place in town? Looks deserted. You sure you didn’t get hit in the head one time too many, Spike? Remember the wrong place?”

“Stellar observation skills as ever, Harris. Question – exactly how long did it take you and your lot to realize I was holed up here? Or that the Annoying One and his minions were there before me ’n Dru showed up.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Buffy, with a playful smack to the vampire’s shoulder. “I resent that!”

“Sorry, pet. You did find me, after all. ‘Course it _did_ take you and Peaches and some serious Slayer dreams, if I recall. Anyway, there’s a reason the factory looks abandoned. Right, Red?”

Giving the factory her full attention, Willow exclaimed, “It’s a glamour. Someone’s cast a glamour to make it seem deserted.”

“Score one for the witch.” Spike gave her a playful tap to the nose. “Best way to keep out the riff-raff. Entry is granted _only_ when accompanied by a current patron. S’why I had no choice but to come back here; no way any of you would be allowed in without me. I’m stamped for re-entry.”

He held out his hand for examination – Buffy stepped forward and felt the small, raised patch of skin, midway between his knuckles and wrist.

“Is that an embedded chip?” she hissed, inexplicably angry at the invasion of his person. Couldn’t they just issue a card like every other club?”

Best way to avoid counterfeit, luv. Can’t copy what can’t be seen – can’t lose what’s attached. ‘Course, trouble comes when they revoke your membership,” he said, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Makes me wonder why I still have my hand.”

“No way, Buffster. No way I’m getting tagged like a dog,” Xander announced. “That’s probably how they found him for his beatdown.”

“What makes you think you’d be offered a membership, you stupid git? You don’t just walk in an’ get accepted. A member has to propose you an’ there’s a screening interview…” Mid-sentence the angered vampire stopped his rant.

“Bloody hell!” he whispered, “the whelp’s got a point. The chips have gotta be personally coded.”

Willow looked faintly ill. “So they can track a person, like a vet tracking a missing pet. 

“So much for a low-key entrance.” Spike sighed. “Was hoping to at least make it through the door without attracting attention… though that was always a long shot, what with me bringing the Slayer and her chums in.”

“I can do low key,” Buffy pouted.

She could feel his eyes on her jutting lower lip. “Oh, pet,” he murmured. “That pout’s gotta be illegal in at least five different countries. You use that as a weapon and you’ll have demons and humans fallin’ at your feet.”

Unable to resist, she replied, “Aw, Spike – I bet you say that to all the Slayers.”

“Oww!” Xander yelped suddenly, rubbing his shin and glaring angrily at Willow. “I wasn’t gonna say anything – much as I wanted to.”

“Yuh huh,” Willow smirked, knowing she’d gotten her point across.

“Okay you guys,” Buffy took a deep breath, “it’s time to make our grand entrance. And we’re gonna have to follow Spike’s lead here.” She stared at Xander intently – daring him to comment.

Taking point, the vampire led them to the entrance. He waved his hand under a small light and the door opened to a well-lit reception area. There they were greeted by a strikingly attractive woman in a sequined halter gown. Six feet tall if she was an inch, raven black hair falling in loose ringlets down her bared back, black leopard spots dotting her tawny gold skin and the most beautiful pair of deep violet cat’s eyes set in a broad boned face.

“Ssspike,” she purred. “Sssurprised to see you back so soon. And I sssee you brought us company this time.”

“’Lo, Ailuros. Yeah, just showing m’friends a night out. There going t’be a problem issuing guest passes?”

“Just keep a close eye on them. And watch your back, Ssspike. Ssseems you’ve upset a couple of the big bosses. I don’t want a repeat of last time,” Ailuros whispered. “Especially when you bring the Ssslayer into the house.”

Buffy adopted her bubbliest tone. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Just looking for a fun night out for a change.”

Handing a small gold circlet to the Slayer and her companions, Ailuros said, “Pleassse pin these prominently on your clothing and follow me.” Walking to the door, hips swaying and tail twitching, she had the rapt attention of all as she led the way to the inner sanctum.


	6. King of All He Surveys

Ailuros opened the double doors at the back of the reception area and stepped aside, allowing them entrance into The Crazy Eights proper. Motioning Spike forward, she repeated her earlier warnings to watch his back and keep close tabs on his companions.

“Holy Frijoles, Batman,” exclaimed Xander, eyes opened wide in amazement as he took in the transformed factory space.

The floor was now a sea of dramatic black marble crisscrossed with red veining. The harsh fluorescent lights were gone, replaced with soft recessed lighting that emitted an ethereal glow uncannily reminiscent of candlelight. Little touches of color appeared in subtle places. Cloth napkins and floral displays in deep jewel tones – amythyst, sapphire blue, burgundy, deep emerald green, and mandarin orange – all seemed to enhance the lush feeling of understated elegance.

The overall effect was soothing and amazingly warm for such a cavernous space. Most of the walls were covered in rich rosewood paneling that seemed to glow with an inner light, but the back wall – the site of the well-stocked bar – was mirrored. Apparently the patrons didn’t take issues with absent reflections.

Tables were scattered throughout the room, served by waitstaff dressed in nondescript uniforms – dark shirts, dark pants; utilitarian, not fashionable. On their left breast pockets were white pearlescent circlets with colored pips, denoting, Buffy guessed, some variation in what they served.

Entranced, Buffy looked around the room. So different from the Bronze, she thought. It felt like stepping out of childhood into the adult world. Sunnydale had _never_ seen a place like this before.

Despite the opulent ambience, her ‘spidey sense’ was going off full blast; it felt like the skin at the base of her spine was trying to crawl its way to her neck. Which was not to be unexpected, in a club heaving with demons. Snapping out of her reverie, she remembered why they were all at The Crazy Eights to begin with. Not to gawk at the pretties, but to get the lay of the land and to see if anything suspicious could be seen at a cursory glance.

“I think we need to do the mixy thing,” she announced. “Standing around is gonna draw too much attention.”

Xander – who was beginning to look a little overawed and clearly in need of a drink – offered to scope out the bar. And Willow trailed after him, leaving Buffy and Spike standing awkwardly near the door… and begin to attract notice. Buffy could feel the eyes of an ancient-looking vamp in the dining room assess her.

Then, Spike moved closer and offered Buffy his arm. She raised a questioning brow. “What’s with the chivalry routine, Spike? I’m perfectly capable of walking around on my own.

“Look around you, luv. Mostly couples, yeah? Notice the makeup of most of those pairings – vamp/human. Very few unattended humans walking around, and we’re supposed to be blending in.” He held his arm out again. “When in Rome, pet.”

“When in Rome, what? Let people think I’m ready to be a vamp’s midnight snack?”

“They’re not snack food; they’re human pets – prized and well cared for. Some are blood cows, willing to let the vamps feed. Some are servant types that run errands during daylight hours.”

“How can you condone this?” she hissed. “Humans being kept as pets. It’s disgusting and degrading and just… wrong. And if you ever call me ‘pet’ again, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Look, luv, I get that it angers you. Don’t like your species lorded over, so to speak. But you have to understand it’s not forced – it’s mutually beneficial. The human pet is better cared for than in some human marriages.”

“Yeah, she replied sarcastically, “because everyone loves being a chew toy.”

“Some people do! And not to push a sore point, but it’s not like human marriages are all beds of roses. Your father didn’t exactly treat your Mum like a queen, did he? These vamps are monogamous and, even though they feed from their pets, it’s pleasurable for them both.”

Buffy merely pouted in response, as Spike continued. 

“S’difficult to keep an open mind, I know, but these humans don’t need our help. Probably had right miserable lives before pairing up. Try and let it go, especially while you’re in here. Remember – vamp hearing.”

“This is not gonna be easy for me Spike. It goes against everything the Slayer stands for.” She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. “But I can do this. After all, I’ve said screw Slayer tradition before. I’m supposed to dust vampires - _all_ vampires. Then there was Angel… and now, well, look at us. It certainly doesn’t say ‘leave Spike hail and hearty’ in the Slayer’s handbook, ya know.”

“Tolerance, thy name is Buffy. Just glad you gave me a chance, pet – Sorry! – luv.” He darted out of reach before she could whack him. “Though it would have been a lovely battle, it’s more fun fighting with you than against.”

A tap on the shoulder made the Slayer tense and spin around, battle ready in an instant.

“Hey Buffster, ease off. It’s me,” placated Xander. “And I come bearing menus.”

“You wouldn’t believe what they’re serving here,” chirped Willow. “Some of it gives me the heebie jeebies.”

Settling down at an out-of-the-way-table, Willow plunked down a couple of menus, and a handful of colorful flyers. Before they could even give the menus a cursory glance, a waiter appeared, punching something into a keypad.

“Welcome back to Crazy Eights, Mr. Spike. Your regular order and something for your pets?”

Buffy watched Xander’s mouth open, but a swift kick under the table had him shutting it again.

Spike nodded to the waiter. “Yeah, O-pos for me and a basket of those spicy chicken wings - my mates will order for themselves.”

With his eyebrow raised in surprise, the waiter turned to Xander for his order.

“Um, I think I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries.” Eyes narrowing, Xander enquired nervously, “That is a real beef-from-the-cow burger and grown-in-the-ground potato fries, right?”

“Yes, sir. We are fully stocked with a wide variety of human foods. And we have separate kitchens and utensils for our demon and human customers.”

“Heh… sorta like you keep a kosher kitchen.” Willow let out a nervous giggle. “I guess I’ll have a regular burger and fries, too. Oh, and a pitcher of Pepsi, if you have it, please.”

Turning to Buffy and bowing his head slightly, the waiter said, “Slayer, what can we get for you tonight?”

At the sound of her title, Buffy gave a nervous little start, and immediately felt Spike’s hand move supportively to the small of her back.

“Do you have any suggestions,” the shaken blonde asked sheepishly. “I’m afraid I haven’t even seen the menu yet.”

“We have a lovely vegetable lasagna, seems to be most popular with the human females. Would you care to chance it?”

At her affirmative nod, the waiter finished punching their order into his keypad and stepped away.

As soon as he was out of sight, all hell broke loose at the table.

One very angry Slayer turned to the vampire at her side and seethed, “Just how many times have you been here, Spike – that they know you by name and have your regular order memorized? And what did you do? Go around bragging that you hang out with the Slayer? I thought I was supposed to be all girly company tonight. There’s no sign hanging over my head that announces I’m the Slayer. Why does everyone seem to know what I am?”

“And what did you mean by ‘mates’ you bleached freak?” Xander demanded. “Nobody is mated to you. Nuh uh – Xander Harris is nobody’s mate and neither is Willow.”

“I can speak for myself,” said the redhead, agitated but clearly the calmest of the bunch. “But just to clarify, I’m not anyone’s mate, either.”

Holding his hands up in self-defense, the vampire in question tried to explain. “Let me answer Buffy’s questions, first. Look, luv… I’ve been here all of two times. I’ve never seen that waiter before in my unlife. I’ve got a bad feelin’ that he knew who I was thanks to this soddin’ chip in my hand. That little keypad thingamabob he was punchin’ our orders into is probably a chip-reader of some sort.” Pausing thoughtfully, he cocked his head and continued. “Come to think of it, he was punching something in it before he even called m’name.”

The geek in her engaged, Willow exclaimed, “I’ll bet that’s how he knew Buffy was the Slayer, too. There’s probably _lots_ of information on that chip and not only what you’ve told them.” Almost bouncing in her seat, she added, “You’ve been hanging around with Buffy for a couple of years, Spike. Gotta be common knowledge around the demon community. Plus, demons, right? I’m sure they could just tell from her aura or something that she’s the Slayer.”

Buffy placed a conciliatory hand on Spike’s arm. “Look, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. This place just gives me the wiggins. My skin feels like it’s crawling thanks to all the vamps and whatever other demons are in the building.”

Spike let it all go with a curt nod and a small smile in her direction. Turning to Xander, he said, “And for your information, Harris, I said you were all my mates – _friends_ , you git – not that you were mated to anyone.

“In case you’d not noticed, most of the humans in here are pets. They have no real status. Tthe vamps and demons talk for them and order for them. Calling you my friends was a bloody honor.” He glared at Xander. “Would you rather I’d called you pet and beat you into a bloody mess for being disobedient?”

Willow picked up her spoon and clanked it against her water glass to get their attention. "C'mon, fellas. We're supposed to be in this together... you know – rally the troops? One for all and all for one?”

“Stay out of it, Will,” Xander said, just as Spike said, “Stay out of it, Red,” at the same time.

This time it was Buffy’s turn to be peacemaker. “Enough! Time to get back to the mission. Let’s concentrate on the new intel, here. Because it seems like Spike’s chip has way too much info to be benign. From the looks of it, it recognizes who and what you are, and your personal preferences in munchies. Probably knows who your friends and family are too.”

“And it can probably locate your position at any time,” Willow added.

“Shit,” Buffy hissed, alarm evident in her eyes. “Spike, you’ve just moved into my house. D’ya think they’ll go after my mother?”

“No worries, luv. M’all healed up and I’ll move back to the crypt when we leave here.”

“There’s no need for bravado, Spike. Even you need time to properly recuperate. I’m thinking it’s already too late for that – you’ve already been in the house.” Buffy considered for a moment. “And actually, if something goes down at home, you’ll be able to help me protect Mom. It might be best to stay.”

“If you’re sure. Don’t want to put the lady in danger.”

Their waiter chose that moment to return with their meals. Buffy eyed his keypad as he scurried away.

In-between bites, the Slayer and her friends looked over the various menus. The human food was ordinary, nothing you wouldn’t expect to find in any halfway decent restaurant. But the demon menu had them a bit squicked.

“Eeeew,” squeaked Willow. “Blood on tap.” Eyes widening, she stammered, “D-does that mean it come straight from…”

“The neck, Red,” confirmed the blond vampire. “Menu states several types – see here? Donated – some of the humans here are wearin’ red circlets marking their donor status. Then there’s house-red, various animal types – pig, otter, goat, cow. S’also plasma, lymph and other types of bodily fluids. Somethin’ for every demon.” 

“Okay… anyone else lose their appetites?” asked a decidedly green around the gills Xander. “And can we _not_ review anything else on the demon delights list? I’d like to keep my food down.”

Those who were able, finished their meal in silence. Then they all agreed that their next step should be to venture down to the gaming room on the lower level.


	7. Queen for a Day

Finished with their meal, obviously charged to Spike’s chip, the intrepid band of Slayer, vampire and Scoobies began to leaf through the flyers Willow had procured earlier in the evening.

A pink paper announced ‘Demon Poker Nite – Wednesday – 9 pm – 4 am. Bloodshed forbidden in gaming areas. An orange paper noted ‘Semi-Annual Harvest Ball – Summer/Winters Solstice Celebrations. Bring more than one donor for free admission. A green flyer proclaimed ‘Special Events Nights. Ladies’ Night – Mondays – No cover, no minimum for females (all species). Gentlemen’s Night – Thursdays – Complimentary drink and appetizer with full meal. Vampires’ Night – Saturdays – 4 Shot Special, mixed blood drinks – your preference.’

Glancing at the rainbow of colored papers spread out before him on the table, Xander sneered, “Who’d have thought the demon set would be all schedule-having? Can’t say that I see them sitting at home on a weeknight, goin’, ‘Hey Mabel, why don’t I take you out for a little free blood and dancing on Saturday? I hear the Bloodsuckers are playing at The Crazy Eights and you know how they slay me when they get their groove thang on.’ I mean jeez…”

“Bloody hell,” Spike seethed. “You really are an arrogant, ignorant prat, aren’t you? Haven’t you learned yet that it’s not all about humans? Look around you!” The irate vampire gestured around the dining area and shot Xander a look of disdain reminiscent of Giles at his most upper-crusty. “See any fledges with dirt still clingin’ to their ears? Even demons can have schedules, y’know. Most of these vamps have paying jobs – nightwork, an’ such, or old money behind them. And every one of ‘em has more class than you.”

Recognizing that the volatile vampire’s self-control was waning rapidly, Buffy attempted to rein him in before he drew any more.

“Spike, let it go,” she said, quietly, knowing he would hear her through his anger. “We have more important things to deal with.”

He clenched his jaw until she could see the little muscle tic, then he rotated his neck enough to crack the vertebrae.

Visibly shaking off his anger like a dog shedding water, he said, carefully, “A word of warning, whelp. Downstairs is serious business. It may be a game room, but the folk there don’t play around. If you can’t keep your gob shut and your stupidity under control, walk out now. I’ll not have you bollixing this up. Told you before – nobody endangers the Slayer, or Red for that matter, and I’d prefer to save my fightin’ for when it counts.”

“I was just fooling around,” Xander mumbled. “I’ve just never really given much thought to demons’ social lives. I’ll try to keep my opinions to myself.” He set his jaw and added, “But I don’t trust you. And you can bet your scrawny white ass I’m gonna keep my eye on you.”

Leading the way, Spike strode over to the stairwell at the end of the room. They descended the spiral staircase, coming face to face with a large black door and a sign that read ‘Last Warning! Spilling of blood and other fluids beyond this point will result in expulsion from The Crazy Eights for all surviving participants.’

Spike waved Xander and Willow through the door, and then paused momentarily. “Buffy, like it or not, down here, all humans are either taken or fair game. It’s obvious you’re known, a prize, an’ I don’t want anyone getting ideas to use you as a wager or marker. Tonight, let me treat you like you’re mine. Not as m’pet, but m’lady. It’s the only way I can be sure to protect you, other than marking you as my mate. Can you trust me enough on this?”

“No biting involved?”

“Not unless your life depends on it,” he said, solemnly.

Trepidation was making her voice shaky, but she met his gaze. “I trust you, Spike. Let’s do this.”

Snaking his arm around her waist, they stepped inside.

The room sported plush wall-to-wall carpeting – ruby red in color with black flecks, an inverse of the marble upstairs. The walls were covered with the same rosewood paneling. Tucked discretely in the far corner was a small recessed bar. The lighting was dim, just enough to see and be seen by – affording some measure of privacy to the players.

The thick carpeting swallowed the sounds of the waitstaff’s movements as they moved like cyphers at the merest crook of a beckoning finger. Spoken words were few and far between. The members’ needs and preferences met with silent efficiency.

There was an undercurrent of excitement running through the room. The players were seriously into their games, but their enjoyment was palpable.

Spike walked up to the pit boss, requesting a deck of cards and a set of chips. “S’just a friendly game, mate – not playin’ with the house money tonight.”

Pulling up a chair at one of the available tables, the blond vampire gently tugged Buffy over to him. Patting his thigh, he crooned, “C’mere, luv, Daddy needs a little luck this evening.” As he pulled her onto his lap, he nuzzled tiny kisses behind her earlobe, whispering, “Play along, pet. There’s eyes everywhere.” Hearing a murmured affirmative, Spike continued his exploration of her neck.

Both of Xander’s fists slammed down on the table, startling the ‘necking’ couple. “Damnit, Spike! Get your lips off of her. And what the hell are you doing on his lap, Buffy? Like you’re at a junior high make-out party.”

A waiter appeared instantly at the table. Eying Xander warily, he asked, “Is anything the matter, Mr. Spike? Do we need to take action here?”

“Nah, mate. Everything’s fine – just a bit of a jealous misunderstanding between me and the lad. No worries. Why don’t you bring a round of beers for the table, and an O pos chaser, for me.”

“As you wish, Sir. If you’re in need of further assistance…” Sparing a glance at the fuming Xander, he left the implied threat hanging in the air.

Once the waiter was out of earshot, Buffy turned to face her friend across the table. “Xander, I know you think you’re defending my honor or something, but I’m more than capable of stopping Spike dead in his tracks if I get uncomfortable with what was going on?”

“Buffy, sweetie, you know Xander means well,” Willow placated. “And, I mean, you _do_ know you’re acting a little out of the ordinary. Since when do you and Spike make with the smoochies, much less in public smoochies?”

Spike leaned across the table, motioning everybody to move in closer. “You stupid sods,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “Firstly, this place is under surveillance at all times. And you can bet the waiters report suspicious behavior to the boss. So, can you _please_ keep the commentary to a fucking minimum?

“Secondly, in this joint, the Slayer’s either mine or she’s on the menu for every demon in the room. How exactly do you expect me to mark my territory?”

He paused, an absolutely wolfish smirk forming as he looked directly into Xander’s eyes. “Would you prefer I bit her and left m’mark that way? All other vamps’d be able to see and smell me on her, and I wouldn’t even have to be in the room to keep her safe.”

“You lay one fang on her Spike, and so help me God, I’ll –”

“You’ll what? Beat me up? Stake me? You get to fucking try, boy, but I’m gonna give as good as I get.”

“Spike, please don’t hurt him,” Willow begged. “We can do this, I swear. Can we just try to play a few hands of poker or whatever and then leave? I mean, it’s got to look better if we relax and play a bit rather than storming out of here, all grrr and fighty?”

“Will’s right, Spike,” Buffy placated, absent-mindedly stroking the curls at the nape of agitated blond’s neck. “Let’s try to stick to the plan – play and observe.”

Unified now, all three turned to Xander, who had remained quiet since his initial outburst.

“Damnit, I don’t like this,” he said. “I’m not comfortable with you and the fanged menace hanging all over each other.” He grimaced. “But I will try to keep it to myself for the rest of the evening. Anything to get it over and done with as soon as possible.”

With a deep sigh of relief, Buffy picked up the deck of cards from the table, and began to deal.


	8. Jack of All Trades

The rest of the evening passed without incident… thanks largely to several rounds of beer that helped ease the tension between Spike and Xander. While happy to enjoy the beer, all four did, however, graciously refuse the complimentary Yak Urine cocktails offered by the management.

Eventually, the desire to play poker wore thin and Xander and Willow were escorted home. Continuing on towards Revello Drive, no words were spoken between Slayer and Vampire.

Arriving at the porch steps, Buffy sat down, beckoning Spike to sit beside her. “Well that was interesting,” she said softly, staring straight ahead into the yard.

Awkward around the Slayer for the first time in years, Spike was torn between wanting to light up and wanting to pull her closer to him. The little act he’d put on in Crazy Eights had confused him as much as it’d angered the whelp. He ran a hand through his hair, releasing a few curls from their gelled restraint.

“Look, Buffy,” he began. “M’sorry if I made things difficult for you with your chums, earlier. I thought it would be better if I could make staff and demonfolk alike believe the Slayer was my woman. Make you less of a target for the more opportunistic blokes.”

“It was fine, honest. I had no problems being yours for the evening.” She smiled wickedly. “For a scrawny old vampire, you have a very comfy lap.”

Thrown by the compliment, he joked, “You need to work on respectin’ your elders.”

Buffy yawned. “Can I be Miss Mannersy tomorrow, Spike? I’m too tired to care at the moment,” she said, sidling over to the vampire and resting her head on his shoulder.

Finally finding something to do with his arm, he encircled Buffy’s slight shoulders, relishing the feel of her body heat against him. They sat quietly side-by-side, listening to the crickets chirp and relaxing into each other in a rare moment of peace.

Their contemplative mood was broken moments later, by the internationally-recognized warning sign for daughters who missed curfew – the flashing porch-light. 

“Oh she has so got to be kidding.” Buffy mumbled into Spike’s leather duster. “What am I – twelve?”

“S’alright, luv.” He stood, offering his hand to help her rise from the step. “Let’s go inside and make your Mum happy.”

With a quick roll of her eyes, Buffy acquiesced and allowed herself to be pulled to standing.  
~*~

Joyce’s eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth as she puttered around the kitchen, studiously ignoring her scowling daughter as she settled into a stool at the counter.

“Don’t be angry, Sweetie. I couldn’t resist a little teasing,” Joyce laughed. “It’s not often I see you with a boy, much less have the honor of playing Chaperone!Mom. You have to allow me some leeway here.”

Buffy’s scowl turned into a pout, then a small wistful smile. “I get it, Mom, really. It’s not very normal for either of us.” She sighed, “What with me and slaying, and you worrying, and then me and vampires and NOT slaying but bringing them home… okay then, I can deal with the porch light. Just not too often.”

Vampire stealth working to his advantage, Spike crept up behind the petite blonde’s chair and gently jabbed his fingers into her sides, just under her ribs.

“Oi, pet. I better not hear of you bringing any other vampires home with you. S’not a good habit to get into.”

Giggling, Buffy said, “No worries, Spike, you’re the last little Pound Puppy Vamp I’m inviting in. It takes too much time and trouble to housebreak a new one.”

With a definite growl coming from the vampire, the chase was on. Out of the kitchen, through the dining room and living room, up the stairs and down. Buffy letting out a high shriek each time Spike got close enough for another poke or pinch. They ended up on the couch in front of the television. Spike sprawled against the back cushions, legs splayed wide; Buffy sat next to him, legs folded underneath her, head resting against his shoulder once more. 

Spike rifled through the channels, not pausing more than five seconds on any channel and, within fifteen minutes, both had fallen fast asleep.

On her way up to bed, Joyce paused by the couch long enough to drape an afghan over the sleeping figures.

“Only my daughter,” she muttered. “One vampire to pine and mope after, and another vampire to play tag with and sleep next to. Fat grandchildren just don’t seem to be in my future.”

As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, a slight smile played over her lips. At least, she thought, Buffy’s managed to find someone to share a few moments happiness with, she thought, Someone to share her burden and watch out for her. That was decent compensation for the loss of future grandchildren.

~*~

Buffy awoke in a blind panic to the sound of chirping birds. Daylight! She relaxed almost immediately when she realized her mother had pulled the draperies closed to protect the sleeping-vampire-pillow beneath her.

Gotta thank the all-purpose Mom; she of the blanket-gathering, vampire-protecting variety, she thought, as she poked the aforementioned pillow in the ribs. Or not, she added mentally, as he startled awake and managed to unseat her from the couch in a flurry of flailing limbs.

“Not wise to poke a sleeping vamp, luv,” he mumbled.

“Some vampire you are,” she snickered. “If you were back in your crypt, you’d be fair pickings for any demon wanting to take you out. Or a Slayer.”

“Luv, if I were in my crypt, I wouldn’t have had such a lovely warm body to cuddle up with and I’d never have allowed myself the luxury of falling so deeply asleep. Vicious natural predator here with excellent survival skills.”

Watching him as he arched his back in a full body stretch, eyes closed, platinum blond hair in tufts and soft ringlets framing his face, he looked more like a sleepy little boy than a man-eating beast.

The sound of the garbage truck broke her out of her viewing pleasure, and a quick glance at the cable box told Buffy she was already late for class.

“Damn, not even time for breakfast,” she grumped. “I’ve barely got time to take a quick birdbath and grab a snack on the way to class. There’s blood in the fridge and if you go out, just leave me a note on the desk.”

With a quick ruffle to the blond tufts of hair sticking out from the afghan Spike had burrowed under, Buffy was gone for the day.

~*~

Several hours later, Spike unfurled his limbs from his knitted cocoon and rose from the couch. He was not a morning person by habit, but he knew there were things that needed his attention during daylight hours.

As he ambled up the stairs to take advantage of a leisurely hot shower, he let loose with a chortle. Buffy had mentioned something about a birdbath, and he was struck with the image of the girl sitting naked in a marble pedestal bath, splashing herself with a large pair of white wings.

“Bloody hell, someone needs to get laid, mate,” he said aloud, as he stepped into the shower. A perfunctory lathering of his hair and body took care of the personal hygiene issue, and a few quick strokes of a soapy hand took the edge off another issue. He dried himself quickly, dressed and went downstairs to heat some blood for breakfast.

Sitting at the table, sipping his blood from the black and red “Kiss the Vampire” mug Joyce had picked up for him, Spike mapped out a course of action.

He had a general idea of what he wanted to accomplish – hit the sewer tunnels to see if he could intimidate any of the local demons into coughing up some new information on the club, and scare up anything about beaten or missing demons. There was no way he’d been the only demon singled out for the club’s smash and bash special. Then, on to the Magic Box, in the desperate hope the Watcher had found out something useful. Anything to relieve him of the need to retain the chip and visit The Crazy Eights again.

The longer he had that chip in his hand, the more nervous he got and was more than ready to rip the sodding thing out with his own fangs. Shaking his hand as if the movement alone would be sufficient to dislodge the chip, he could swear he felt it sending out little charges of electricity skittering up and down his arm, creeping ever closer to his head.

“Grow a pair, you stupid berk,” he growled. “Just one more night and that chip is gone, even if I have to lose the hand.”

Leaving Buffy a note on the desk as she’d asked, he headed for the door, lifted the duster over his head and made the mad dash to the manhole in broad daylight.

He stalked the tunneled infrastructure beneath the streets of Sunnydale, every now and then coming across pockets of vampires or other demons, and grilling them about The Crazy Eights.

Some were outwardly hostile - his preference for working with the Slayer did not sit well with everyone. They called him traitor and coward to his face... and those who survived, were threatened with nightly raids by said Slayer. There were definitely some advantages to having a friend – all sixty two deliciously powerful inches of her - in high places; and Spike wasn’t afraid to flaunt the fact.

Spike stretched his metaphoric wings as he went about his business. He might have chosen to stop hunting for his meals and he had deliberately partnered himself to the Slayer, but – it didn’t make him any less of a bad ass amongst his own kind.

Vamps weren’t known for loyalties outside of their own clans, and the Big Bad had no problem terrorizing any demon he came across. Just a little indulgence he allowed himself. It felt good to be feared, even if regaining Mastery of Sunnydale no longer held any appeal for him.

With reports of fewer than a handful of missing demons – all quite possibly attributable to the Slayer’s nightly patrols and no further leads, Spike thought he might as well see what old Rupes has to say for himself.

He soon found himself directly under the Magic Box, grateful that the Mayor had the forethought to build Sunnyhell such an intricate tunnel system. Another nod to the friends in high places bit.

Climbing up the ladder to the Magic Box’s basement and then to the upper level of the store proper, Spike announced himself in his typically singular fashion, “Oi, Rupes! Need to have a talk ‘bout what’s going on. Where the bloody hell are you, you git?”

Had he needed to breathe, he’d have been sore pressed for oxygen in the next moment. Caught unawares, he found himself slammed up against one of the shop’s bookcases.

“Vampire,” hissed the irate shopowner, one hand clamped around Spike’s neck, the other clenching a fistful of tee shirt. “Talking to you is the _last_ thing I want to do.” Banging Spike’s head against the bookcase for emphasis, he continued, “How dare you molest Buffy in a public place and threaten to bite her?”

Comprehension dawned. Easily breaking the Watcher’s hold, Spike flipped them around and held Giles’ hands over his head. Gameface sliding into place and fangs lengthening, Spike stood nose to nose with his adversary. 

“So, you’ve had a visit from the little boy, have you? And you believe that I would endanger Buffy’s life in the middle of a demon club. Threatening to spill her blood amongst all manner of beasties who would try to take her from me? Are you off your nut, Rupert?

He tightened his grip ever so slightly. “If you want to know what happened, all you have to do is ask me.”

The little bell over the door announced her arrival.

“Spike, would you mind telling me why you’re all fangy and grrr? And why you’re all pressed up against my Watcher?” 

 

Relaxing fractionally, he shed his gameface as he looked into the eyes of a mildly  
annoyed Slayer.

“Let him go, Spike. I’m sure we can all sit down and straighten out this mess.”

With a final growl, the vampire released Giles and snapped, “Your stupid git of a mate’s been telling tall tales.”

Giles bristled. “While he might exaggerate on occasion, I’ve never known Xander to out-and-out lie. I certainly trust his word over yours and I know for a fact that he’s quite protective of Buffy.”

“Little shit’s just sorry she won’t drop her knickers for him,” Spike scoffed. “He’s jealous of anyone within sniffing distance.

“Truth here is real simple. Slayer and I acted the part of Vampire and Consort. I knew it would offer her almost as much protection as a claiming bite.

“She sat on my lap, pretty as you please, and we nuzzled necks and noses, which made privacy easier in a room full of vampires. That’s the full story.”

When Giles merely grimaced in response, Spike added, “You know, you can take your opinion and stuff it. Go believe the whelp and I’ll find someone else to research this chip for me.”

Buffy sighed. “Giles, this would be so much easier if you’d just listen once in awhile. If Spike had done something I wasn’t comfortable with, I would have defended myself. Slayer here, vampire there. He was a perfect gentleman, and asked me if I’d be comfortable following his lead before he acted.

Folding her arms, she continued, “And, personally, I think we should be concentrating on the chips the club uses, rather than the status of my virtue. There must be chips implanted in demons and humans all over Sunnydale, not to mention all those out-of-town players. We need to know what they do, how they’re activated, and what the club uses them for. Because there’s no way they’re simply members-only passes.”

Turning to the still agitated Spike, she said, “I’ve been thinking about this all day. As much as it makes me uncomfortable, I think we need to go back to the club once more before you try and deactivate that chip. I’m sure we’ll be able to mingle a little better if it’s just you and me.”

“We can go this evening, Slayer. Been thinking the same, myself. In the meantime, if Watcher-boy can keep his knickers from twisting, I’d like to see if there’s anything that can be stolen from a human or demon through a conduit. As much as I’m concerned about the one I’ve been tagged with, I’m a little more worried about what the club wants with all this information from the masses. S’not kosher.”

“All right,” Giles sighed. “You’ve both raised valid points. Let’s see what we can find.”


	9. It's Ten O'Clock and All's Not Well

Research time hadn’t provided any solid facts, in part due to the dearth of information on microchips in Giles’ ancient texts. But conjecture pointed to a power broker – perhaps a mage with enough skill to harvest combinations of life force, soul energy, and auras. There was the daunting possibility that the power could be bartered and sold for any manner of nefarious schemes, none of which boded well for the denizens of Sunnydale or anywhere else.

Looking up from her umpteenth volume of undecipherable text, Buffy said, “I think my time as research-gal is over for today, guys. I’m gonna look awfully silly if I show up at The Crazy Eights in my stunning strapless gown and stilettos with the worst case of crossed eyes you’ve ever seen.”

“S’alright, pet. We know something wicked this way comes… and it’s up to us to find it. Before it makes me its bitch,” he said, scratching at the back of his hand hard enough to draw blood.

“Stop it!” Buffy squeaked, slapping his hand to prevent further damage. “I know it’s wigging you out, but we need it for just one more night. I promise we’ll remove it when we get home from the club.”

“I’d be most interested in studying this chip of yours, Spike. If you come by the shop after tonight’s escapade, I’ll remove it for you,” Giles offered. “And I’m sure Willow will be more than happy to help me sort it.”

“Rupes, if we make it out of there without m’hand exploding, it’s all yours. And nobody uses m’body again ‘cept in the way nature intended.”

The smirk on Spike’s face seeped through Buffy like a warm shiver. She’d been having the strangest reactions to him lately but there wasn’t time for self-analysis at the moment.

“C’mon, Nature Boy,” she said, as she grabbed his arm. “We’ve got to get ready for tonight. I need to make myself all Consorty, you know.”

“Yeah,” Spike said, straight-faced. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass myself, haulin’ a dishwater dull Slayer around all night.”

“Out, both of you,” said Giles, mildly annoyed at the ridiculous conversation. “If there were any customers here, you would have chased them away with all your childish prattle.” 

Shooing them out the door, he was confounded by the level of closeness that had clearly developed between his Slayer and William the Bloody. It’s not as if he hadn’t seen Buffy up close and personal with a vampire before.

This was different, however. They played with each other. They taunted, dared, smiled and laughed – a marked contrast to the broody silences and wistful gazes of her previous vampiric relationship. Good lord, if they kept going, they’d be finishing each other’s sentences before long. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

~*~

While Buffy showered, Spike waited impatiently in her room for his turn.

Joyce laid out fresh towels for them both before going downstairs. Knowing her daughter’s propensity for taking long, hot showers, it was only a matter of time before…

The yelp came from Buffy – a definite ‘I’m freezing’ squeak. And, right on its heels, by a ‘Bloody, buggering hell’ from the impatient vampire.

Ah, the joys of a timed water heater, Joyce smirked silently. ‘Wonder how long it’ll be before they decide to save water?’

Spike, of course, was ready first, aided by the cold shower. Elegant in a pair of black dress pants and a black-on-black patterned silk shirt. The monochrome ensemble was broken by a silver belt buckle and a gunmetal grey tie. His ever-present Doc’s and duster completed the outfit.

Joyce was impressed. The man certainly did clean up well. Just a day or so in Casa de Summers, and he was a whole new vampire.

Both turned their heads when Buffy finally made her entrance at the top of the stairs. She had chosen a beautifully simple party dress of flocked rayon in a black and white print. The princess seams accentuated her lissome figure, molding to her breasts and exposing her delicate shoulders, while flaring at the hip, ready to flounce and twirl as she walked. 

“Oh, Buffy – look at you! My beautiful daughter all dressed up.” Joyce sniffled. “I swear the two of you look like you’re ready to go to the Prom.”

Next to her, Spike gaped like a schoolboy.

With a twinkle in her eye, Buffy walked up to the stunned vampire, sashaying her way around him, occasionally rubbing against his body as she completed her circuit.

“So, do I pass muster, Mister? No dishwater dull Slayer to embarrass you?”

Clearly shaken more than he’d like to admit, he covered with his usual snark, and said, “You’ll do in a pinch. Wouldn’t do for a bloke as handsome as m’self to show up unescorted on a Saturday night. ‘Course, I just might be lookin’ around for somethin’ later, after you go home.”

For a fleeting second, the smile on Buffy’s face faltered, and Spike rushed to apologize.

“M’sorry, pet. I –”

“No biggie, Spike. I’m sure a vamp like you can find someone else more to his liking,” she snapped. “So can I. Maybe, as your supposed Consort, I can find someone pissed off enough to challenge you for some time with me.” She looked positively gleefully, until she caught the look on his face.

As the discomfited pair left the house, Joyce shook her head with disappointment. “Guess Spike isn’t the only one who can’t keep his big mouth shut,” she sighed.

~*~

The walk to The Crazy Eights was made in silence; vampire and Slayer each wrapped in their own thoughts. Buffy wasn’t quite sure why Spike’s offhand comment had rattled her enough to strike back. They’d been trading barbs since they were mortal enemies and reveling in it. How were a few simple words said in jest able to wound her so?

At her side, Spike was having similar thoughts. He hadn’t meant to hurt the girl. She’d come down the stairs and floored him. Absolutely beautiful, with a girlish appeal he’d never noticed before. Well, that wasn’t exactly true… He’d always thought she was beautiful, he’d just never fully acknowledged it before.

They’d been friends for years – were comfortable with each other, and trusted in each other during patrol and battle. And yet… he couldn’t stop thinking about holding her in his arms the other day.

He was roused from his thoughts by a sharp poke to his arm.

“You in there, Spike? I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes.”

“Sorry, luv. Wasn’t paying attention.” He took a calming breath and made an attempt to clear the air. “Look, Buffy, I’m not sure what happened back at the house, but we’ve got to work together in the club. It’s dangerous in there and being pissed off at each other and distracted won’t work to our advantage. What say we put it on the backburner until we get home? Sort it all out then?”

Clearly recognizing the statement for the olive branch it was, she said, “You’re right. Something went really wonky back there, and we do need to talk, but not now. Now we need to be all couply.”

“I can do that.”

She gave him a hint of a grin. “And hey, we worked just fine together when we were trying to kill each other, so I’m thinking we can work through a bit of hurt feelings.”

“I reckon so.”

As they approached the entrance, she asked, “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. Let’s get in and get it done. Scratching at the back of his hand, he added, “This damned chip is killing me.”

~*~

“Welcome back, Ssspike,” Ailuros greeted him as he and Buffy walked into the reception area. She was dressed in a deep violet silk gown that matched her eyes. Her hair was swept off her shoulders and clipped into a loose chignon… and she was definitely coming on to him.

“It’s a pleasure to see you looking so well. I guess your little Ssslayer takes good care of you.”

Spike could almost feel Buffy’s hackles rise and he prayed. It was something he hadn’t done in all the years since he’d been turned, but things were gonna go pear-shaped if Buffy reacted badly to this.

“It’s my goal in life, Ailuros,” Buffy simpered, “to make sure that Spike is well and happy. That’s what we Consorts do.”

Ailuros’ eyes flashed that ‘Consort my ass’ look before she said, “I guess our Ssspike is marking you somewhere other than the traditional spot. I see bite marks, honey, but they’re _not_ his.” Her tail began to twitch, in a way that signaled she was not pleased.

Spike jumped in. “Pet, where I bite my Consort is really none of your business, is it?”

“Sssorry, Ssspike.” She turned to Buffy. “It was just a comment between us girlsss, wasn’t it, Slayer?”

“She doesn’t bother me, Spike. She can make all the catty remarks she likes.” Buffy shot him a warm smile. “We know where we stand with each other, right?”

“Of course, luv.” He fixed Ailuros with an implacable glare. “Now, if you’ll just be a pet and hand over my Consort’s circlet for the evening we’ll go enjoy ourselves.”

Crumbling under the weight of his annoyance, she turned deferential. “Anything for you, Ssspike.”

She handed Buffy the circlet and, hissed softly, “Sssteer clear of the game room tonight. Big-wigs from out of town are having a private party and a Slayer on the premises might make them a bit… jumpy.”

~*~

They entered the dining area, and decided to skip the bar and dance floor; a meal and some private time were in order.

“Thanks, pet.”

“For what?”

“For keepin’ your cool when Ailuros decided to challenge your Consort status.”

“Ah, you mean when she decided to go all bitchy-kitty on me?” Buffy grinned. “For a minute I thought she was going to raise her leg and pee all over you.”

“I’m just surprised she didn’t pull off your dress to look for claim marks. Which would have been interesting,” he said, contemplatively, “because, if vamps don’t use the neck, they tend to go for breasts or thigh. Femoral artery’s better for blood and accessibility to the playground, but breasts are always fun.”

“You’re a pig, Spike. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“You used to,” he noted, “on a daily basis.”

Their waiter appeared with the ubiquitous touchpad, and asked if they wanted their ‘usual’ order. Spike simply nodded, and Buffy, to be different, ordered a cheeseburger and fries… commenting under her breath that, since it hadn’t killed Xander, she assumed it was safe.

“So,” she asked, all innocence and hazel eyes, “does she turn you on, Spike?”

“Who, pet? Ailuros?” He shrugged. “Well, yeah. She’s gorgeous an’ I’m all male. What’s not to like?”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he knew he’d been a right arse. Trying to avert another disastrous misunderstanding, he added hastily, “But just ‘cause I find the bint attractive doesn’t mean I’ll go haring off after her.”

Appearing slightly mollified, Buffy said hastily, “She’s a pretty woman, Spike. I’m not blind. Don’t know why I even asked you. Not like I’m really your Consort, is it?”

“Does it bother you, pet? That I look at other women?”

“No! I mean, I don’t think so.” She frowned. “Maybe?”

Well that was certainly a new development. Question was – how did he feel about it? He ventured, “Things’ve been intense since you rescued me luv. P’raps you’re confusing kindness and caring with something more?”

“Spike, I’m caring with my Mom, and kind to my friends – I don’t get jealous when they look at someone else.” He watched as she seemed to sift through her thoughts. “I like our friendship and I don’t want to do anything that would ruin it, but…”

“You think you feel something more, yeah?” he pressed.

“Don’t you?” she asked, immediately turning the tables.

“I’ve always thought you were somethin’ special, Buffy. You know that. You drew me in, such a wonderfully vicious warrior for a little minx.”

Catching the look in her eyes, he could tell she was crestfallen.

“Oh, luv, you don’t really think that’s all I see in you, do you? You walked down those stairs this evening, and I almost lost it right there. You remember, don’t you?”

Thawing slightly, she nodded.

“M’sorry if I hurt your feelings. It’s all confusing –”

Spike was startled mid-sentence by a sharp jab from behind in his left shoulder.

“You Spike?”

The man with the question was tall, intimidating by most standards. He stood about 6 feet 4 inches tall - and was built like the proverbial brick shithouse.

Spike had no problem smacking down shithouses. “Yeah, who’s askin’?”

“The name’s Travis. It’s been brought to my attention that the little lady is unclaimed.”

Spike watched the shithouse’s eyes meander over Buffy. The sub-vocal growl he issued in response was felt rather than heard.

Travis flinched for just a moment, then extended his hand towards Buffy. “I was wondering if she’d like to step out with a real man for the rest of the evening.”

When Travis reached in and yanked Buffy from her seat, Spike sprung into action.

Gameface jumping to the fore, he tackled the larger man, knocking him away from Buffy. She jumped up and made a move to join in, but he warned her off with bared fangs and an outstretched arm. A Slayer on the offensive in a room full of demons was pretty much a red rag to a bull.

 

Travis matched him fang for fang and growl for growl. They stood, circling each other like a pair of lions, challenging each other over territory.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doin’, mate? I’m out for a night with m’lady and you have the gall to grab at her while she’s eatin’ a meal in a public place. Are you mad?”

A crowd, eager for a fight, began to form around the pair.

Travis snarled. “You come in here, parading this little piece of fluff around with no new bite marks, no claim evident and think your rep is gonna keep her? She’s a pretty little thing and I think she’ll look better with me. C’mon, darlin’, what say we get outta here and find something better to do. Like each other?”

With preternatural speed, Spike turned – grabbed Buffy by the shoulders, and with a roar of “Mine!” sank his fangs deep into her neck.


	10. Nine to Five

He’d promised the girl no fangs unless her life was in danger, and now – with his fangs embedded deep in her jugular – it was his unlife at stake, literally if she reacted as her nature dictated.

He felt the eyes of the crowd – could see Travis and Ailuros front and center – watching his every movement.

And waiting.

A bite alone wasn’t going to be enough; he had to draw blood for all the sensitive noses around to be satisfied. He took several strong pulls, while gently kneading Buffy’s shoulders, trying to communicate his intentions silently.

Outwardly, Buffy appeared amazingly calm. She relaxed into his touch and closed her eyes, baring more of her neck to give him easier access. It felt… good. Far too good for it to continue in public. And she’d said that she trusted him.

Spike took a final pull, gently sealing the wounds with his tongue. He raised his head from her neck and roared a challenge to any and all, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Turning to Travis, he said, “I told you she’s mine.”

Though he was staring at Travis, he was listening to Buffy – to her heartbeat and her shallow, ragged breathing. He scooped her into his arms and enjoyed her heat as she nuzzled softly into the crook of his neck.

Ailuros was plainly livid and Spike couldn’t help but wonder if she’d played a part in Travis’s challenge. Her tail twitched angrily back and forth.

“Ssspike,” she hissed, “That’s no claim bite. All you’ve done is feed off of your cow.” Looking mightily pleased with herself, she began to sashay back to her reception desk.

What she hadn’t counted on was Buffy. Spike felt her tense in his arms, raising her head and looking around at the crowd, some of them showing their outright disdain for the Slayer-turned-bloodcow in front of them.

Then she brought her hands up to cup his sharp cheekbones, looking deeply into his questioning gaze.

He was calm, at her mercy, just waiting for her next move. The petite blonde slid her hands down to Spike’s collar, and with a defiant yell of “Mine”, bit sharply into his pale flesh.

He was stunned. Either her reaction to his claim was purely instinctual, or she had actually read some of Rupert’s hidden volumes of vampire lore. The problem was – Spike was unsure if she was aware of the significance of a mutual claim.

One way or another, though… they were in for a long talk.

After worrying at the ragged flesh for a moment, Buffy raised her head to look at the remaining crowd, baring her bloodied teeth between her stained lips with a kittenish snarl. “Any more questions about my Consort status can be emailed to us at ‘we don’t give a fuck dot com.’”

With a chuckle, Spike released the Slayer from his embrace and crooked his arm. She accepted the proffered elbow, and the pair walked out of The Crazy Eights – heads held high – to the rousing cheers of the patrons.

~*~

Outside the madness of the club, the bravado dropped away. Spike’s confidence waned with each step they took, slowly dropping his arm and allowing hers to slip away. The vampire swiped his thumb across his lips; removing the dribble of blood from the corner of his mouth and then absentmindedly sucked the digit clean.

Once far enough away from the club that they could no longer see it, Spike reached out, stopping Buffy’s movement with a hand on her shoulder.

“Slayer, look at me.” He untucked his shirt and tipping her chin up, used a corner of the hem to wipe his blood from her lips.

Buffy batted his hands away from her face. “Stop fussing, Spike. It’s not like I’ve never been seen in public with blood on me.” She smiled softly. “It’s not even the first time we’ve had each other’s blood on us.”

“Yeah, that’s true enough. But this is different,” Spike insisted. “The consequences of what I did… what _we_ did… if there was any other way…”

For the first time since leaving the club, Buffy stumbled, unsure of herself. “Are you s-sorry for what you did? For your part of the claim?”

“Yes… _No!_ ” he blustered, not entirely sure which question he was trying to answer. “That I _had_ to do it, yes, I’m sorry. A claiming shouldn’t be forced or hurried… or public. That it was the only way I could ensure you’d leave alive and in one piece… and with me? Hell no, m’not sorry at all.”

“But we have a problem now, don’t we?” The Slayer worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, looking up at Spike with wide, haunted eyes. “We’re stuck with each other… like an arranged marriage, right?”

“You really don’t have a clue what’s involved with a claiming, do you, pet? Watcher’s lessons never covered anythin’ but vamp/stake.”

Her silence was answer enough.

~*~

They meandered, finding themselves in Restfield Cemetery the next time she looked around. _Like a pair of demented homing pigeons_ , she thought glumly.

The night was warm and dry, a full moon and a soft breeze made it pleasant to be outside. As if pre-arranged, both hopped up on a flat tombstone, settling in to rest and talk.

Buffy broke the silence first.

“I get that I’m all ignorant-girl when it comes to the mating rituals of vampires. I just sort of went with a gut feeling when it came to returning your bite, especially after Pussy Galore called me a cow.”

Her hand fluttered to the right side of her neck, where the fresh bite throbbed mildly. Now she was marked on both sides of her neck. The Master, Angel, and Dracula all on the left side, Spike alone on the right.

Spike reached across the stone, gently stroking her cheek with his fingertips. “Does it hurt, luv? Tried m’best to make it look worse than it felt, but still…”

The remorse in his eyes dealt a massive crack to the protective wall she’d built up around her heart. It was an enlightening moment – he didn’t regret the bite in and of itself, just the circumstances and her pain.

“I-it didn’t really hurt as much as take me by surprise,” Buffy whispered, almost in awe as she remembered the speed with which he’d moved. “Jeez, Spike… if you moved like that when we were trying to kill each other, I’d have been, well… dead.”

“Was the dance that drew me, pet. Much more fun to spar an’ banter about. All the more exciting for being real.” He was right chuffed over her compliment… in a twisted sort of way. “But since our little truce, it’s become more important to save your pretty neck than break it.”

“And don’t think I don’t appreciate it, but I really think you should tell me about the whole claim business.”

“Not goin’ to be distracted, are you?” Not wanting to risk their budding relationship, Spike had hoped to avoid telling her the import of the claim so soon. “A mutual mating claim is the only thing that trumps a Sire’s mark. Usually your Sire owns your ass. The bond between Sire and Childe is virtually unbreakable, except for…”

“A mating claim,” Buffy finished.

“Right you are, luv. An’ if Childe an’ Sire claim each other as mates, there is nothing in the demon world that can rip the bond apart except death. An’ the remaining vamp usually follows their partner from the grief and loss.”

Buffy mulled his words over for a moment before speaking. “No wonder you and Dru were so close. And why you stopped fighting me to protect her in that stupid vampire club disaster.”

“That’s not it, sweetling.” Spike sighed, hating to admit this to himself much less Buffy. “Dru refused a mated relationship… because she still had a hankerin’ for her Sire. Angelus claimed her heart twenty years before I was even turned.”

“One way or another he’s raked us both over the coals, huh?” Reaching for the vampire’s hand that lay on the stone between them, Buffy covered it with her own. “So, are we considered fully mated under vampire law, even without the actual… you know, mating part?”

“Not really sure, pet. And we have the added complication of you bein’ human and the Slayer. I suspect the only guy with enough knowledge of vampiric custom and law to answer the question is the one neither of us has the stones to ask.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to ask someone, Spike,” she groused. “I can just see me trying to explain this to Giles. ‘You see, it’s like this: sometimes feelings develop in the workplace, and we got a little carried away, what with the life threatening sitch and all.’ Angel might stake you, but Giles is gonna crucify me!”

“Not to mention your Mum,” Spike pointed out helpfully.

“Oh damn. Forget about Angel and Giles… she’s gonna kill us both.” Buffy looked up hopefully, knowing better even as she spoke. “Slayer and vampire healing will wipe out the torn skin before we get home, right?”

“Claiming bites have a magic all their own. They’re meant to scar especially on vampire skin,” he sighed. “It’s gonna bruise all kinds of pretty colors and scab, then scar pink and fade. But it’ll be more prominent than the other bites ‘cause of the mutual claim.”

He touched the old bite scars on the left side of her neck. “These might even fade away, leavin’ you with only my claim.” He nudged her off the headstone. “No use puttin’ this off any longer. Need to get you home an’ shored up.”

Buffy wobbled slightly as they walked, and, by the time they neared Revello Drive, Spike had to carry her.

“What the hell did you do to my daughter,” Joyce demanded as she opened the door, taking in the bloodied bite on Buffy’s neck. She trusted Spike, and yet even the matching wound he bore and had the fact that he had the girl in his arms did nothing to alleviate her fears.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Buffy murmured weakly. “Just need…”

“She could do with a nice rare steak, Joyce. Needs to replace a bit of iron in her system.” Spike settled the girl onto a chair and, grabbed a glass of orange juice from the fridge. “Drink up, luv. It should help a little until you eat.”

Joyce held her council temporarily, standing back and watching the interaction between Slayer and vampire – her little girl and her chosen companion – and realized there was no way Spike would have bitten Buffy with malicious intent. Their sweet and gentle behavior calmed her fears enough that she was willing to listen to their explanations without prejudice. She turned her attention to getting her daughter some much needed iron.

Before long, Buffy was sitting on Spike’s lap, allowing him to cut and feed her steak, piece by succulent piece. And, clearly feeling better as the protein began to hit her system.

“All right you two. Now that my inclination is to listen first and maybe stake later, will somebody please tell me what all the biting was about?”

They gave her the overview: that the claim was a bond that went deeper than a human marriage and, was virtually binding for Spike’s unlifetime. And that unless they found a way to break it – should they want to break it – Buffy’s life wasn’t guaranteed should Spike dust before she died.

Spike laid out their dilemma in a calm fashion. “We have a problem, Joyce. There are only two people we can ask about the legitimacy of the claim and the ins and outs of vampiric law in regards to mortals… and to Slayers in particular.”

“Mr. Giles and that Angel fellow, right?” Joyce confirmed.

Buffy nodded. “And both of them are gonna want to stake first and ask questions later. A-and it wasn’t really Spike’s fault. H-he saved my life. I’m the idiot who jumped in and returned the claim without having clue about the consequences. It just felt right at the time.”

“Joyce… ” Spike started, needing to admit something to all, himself included. “The part I regret about the claim isn’t that it’s with your daughter. It’s that we were just realizing there might be feelings between us. Stuff we didn’t know was buildin’… and this sort of forces the situation.”

Joyce looked solemnly from Spike to Buffy, seeing fear in their eyes as they waited for her reaction to the vampire’s declaration. _What’s a mother to do?_

She raised her hand to her mouth… and broke into peals of laughter. “Oh my sweet babies. You two are so dense.”

Spike and Buffy turned to Joyce as if one, and said, “Huh?”… Provoking more giggles from the woman.

“You two have been heading towards each other like those dolls with little magnets in their heads for at least the past year. Funny thing is, you’re the only two who didn’t know it.”

She shook her head, pushing away from the table. “I’m going to bed. You two have plenty to work out, but it’s late, and you can deal with it all tomorrow.” Halfway up the stairs Joyce turned and said, “You may be married under vampire law, but in my house, it’s still separate bedrooms for you two.”

Buffy’s indignant shriek of “Mother!” rang from the kitchen.


	11. Behind the Eight Ball

Buffy awoke feeling more tired than she had the night before. She’d slept in short, disjointed stretches; never more than an hour at a time. The throbbing of her claim bite matched the throbbing between her legs, leaving her unsatisfied as well as exhausted. If only she knew for certain that her feelings were real and not magically induced…

Yeah, she could admit to herself that she’d always been attracted to Spike – even when he was trying to kill her and her friends. She had two eyes, after all. He was a truly beautiful man: diamond sharp cheekbones, slender yet muscular build, a delicious ass that was a joy to watch as he strode away, and oh, the promise of things to come as he swaggered towards you.

She began to squirm under her covers. Cataloguing Spike’s assets wasn’t the smartest thing when she was already so worked up. Only thing stupider would be going to see him.

Stupid or not, she leapt out of bed and was at his doorway in a heartbeat.

“Might as well come in, Slayer, since neither one of us is sleepin’ anything worth a damn.”

“You, too?” she sighed, going to sit next to Spike on the mattress and running her fingers through his tousled hair.

Adjusting himself surreptitiously under the blanket, he leaned into her caress. “Luv, I could knock down a building with my hands tied behind my back.”

Buffy’s cheeks pinked at the image playing in her pervy little brain. Her breathing grew shallow. “Oh God,” she moaned. “This was a really bad idea.”

“Self-control not your strong suit, pet?”

“You wanna see who’s got self-control issues, you beast?” The devil gleaming in her eyes, Buffy crawled around the mattress and knelt up next to the vampire. She pressed a series of soft butterfly kisses up the right side of his neck. “I can stop any time I want to,” she purred, crossing his body to reach the other side of Spike’s neck.

Her bite mark had scarred a deep rose pink, and Buffy blew a warm stream of air across it. _Self control my ass,_ she huffed as Spike hissed and arched backwards. “And we all know you’re the king of restraint, right?”

“I can control myself better than you, pet,” he panted softly, gripping the bedding to keep from grabbing hold of her. “Been at it for a long, long time.”

“We’ll see,” she purred. With the flat of her tongue, she licked a broad stroke up the side of his neck, over her claim mark.

The sound of the sheets ripping was drowned out by Spike’s pleasured growl. He grabbed Buffy by the arms and hauled her into his lap, the thin cotton of her sleep pants doing nothing to disguise their desire.

“Little minx,” he ground out, bucking upwards towards Buffy’s heat. “Two can play at that game.” He nibbled and licked gently at his claim mark.

_Holy crap!_ Who cared what the repercussions of a mating claim were as long as it felt like that? Buffy wrapped both arms around Spike’s neck, fully prepared to launch an assault on his lips when…

**Ahem** Joyce cleared her throat, leaning against the doorjamb. “I seem to recall mentioning something about separate bedrooms for you two. I wasn’t talking just to hear the sound of my own voice.”

The pair jumped apart like a couple of teenagers caught necking. Buffy was flushed, and they were both panting heavily, each finding something on the floor absolutely fascinating.

“I know it’s not easy for you two, trying to figure out how much of this is real, but rushing into sex without a single answer is bound to make things harder… um, more difficult in the long run.” Joyce flushed pink at her choice of words, trying to avoid Spike’s raised eyebrow and her daughter’s indignant glare. “I’d say call Mr. Giles now and get as much information as possible before giving in to your urges.”

“Sorry, Mum. Didn’t mean to get carried away.” Spike stole a glance at Buffy, who was busy twisting the sheet in her hands.

“Well, that’s part of the problem. Just thinking about the claim is enough to keep your minds focused on your feelings and is a built-in excuse to let yourselves go at it.” Joyce smiled warmly at both Spike and Buffy. “I was young once and I know what it feels like to get caught up in the moment. I just don’t want you to be sorry.”

“Fine, Mother,” Buffy grumped as she headed towards her own room. “Shower, dress, breakfast and call Giles. What fun, what joy.”

She took care of the shower and dressing – a white ribbed sleeveless turtleneck to keep Spike’s bite undercover until the time was right – and was in the kitchen with Spike, taking care of breakfast when she discovered an additional problem. Her bite was glaringly obvious on his pale neck.

“Um, let me make a wild guess here, Spike… you and turtlenecks aren’t mixy things, huh?”

Spike’s fingers drifted towards her mark, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You marked me good and proper, luv. And m’not one for scarves, neither.”

“You’ve got to keep it covered until we can talk it out.” Buffy began to panic. “Old eagle eye Giles’ll spot that from a mile away and you know he carries a stake with him at all times. I don’t want there to be any trouble with him jumping to conclusions…”

“It’ll be tricky, yeah,” Spike agreed, “but I think the old duster’ll keep things under wraps.” As an afterthought he added: “He’d probably be more suspicious if I _didn’t_ wear it. It’ll be fine, Buffy,” he soothed. _Eventually._

Buffy nodded and picked up the receiver. The phone call was simple enough. She invited her Watcher over for lunch, telling him it was time to discuss removing Spike’s chip.

Now all they had to do was wait.

The level of tension in the Summers’ household escalated tenfold.

~*~

By the time Giles arrived, Buffy was flitting around the house like a moth, unable to light anywhere for more than a few moments at a time. The third time she headed towards the kitchen to check on things, Spike grabbed her around the waist and attempted to pull her onto his lap. “Settle down, Slayer. You’ve probably lost five pounds from runnin’ back and forth.”

Buffy balked, catching Giles’ eye as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Is everything all right, Buffy?” Her nervous behavior had obviously worried him. “Any problems with Spike spending so much time around you?”

“No!” she yelped, a little too loudly. “No, no. No Spike problems at all. See?” Buffy pointedly sat down on the couch right next to him.

Joyce kicked open the kitchen door, carrying a fully laden tray. “Soup’s on,” she chirped, setting down mugs of tea, coffee and blood on the table. One more trip brought fresh onion soup topped by a crust of toasted cheese and a basket of fresh rolls.

Spike led Buffy to the table, pulled out a chair and settled her in, and then did the same for Joyce before sitting down, himself.

In-between mouthfuls, Buffy decided to get the ball rolling. “So, Giles… have you figured out a way to remove that awful chip?”

“I’ll see what I can do after lunch. I have a few theories that will hopefully leave Spike’s hand and the chip intact, which would be the best of all possible outcomes,” he muttered, removing his glasses and wiping the lenses absentmindedly with his handkerchief. “Putting the chip into a compartment ring might allow Spike entry into the club without rousing suspicion…” he trailed off, fixating on something nearby.

Buffy noted his furrowed brow. “Spill, Giles,” she demanded. “I’m not liking that expression on your face.” She followed his gaze and noted that her hand had crept into Spike’s, their fingers intertwined. “What? You’re all wrinkly ‘cause of a little finger-touching?” Her fingers tightened around Spike’s in a show of… defiance? Support?

“I-it’s not just the fingers, erm… handholding, Buffy,” Giles stammered, obviously trying to hold onto his temper. “All throughout lunch it’s been quite obvious that you and your mother have been overly solicitous towards Spike. She brought him warmed blood three times during the course of the meal, and you – you’re practically sitting in his lap. I’m worried about a thrall…”

_”She_ has a mind of her own.” Joyce glared at the older man. “… and Spike is a guest in my home, same as you. Is it so hard to believe I would show common courtesy to a vampire who…”

“Mom!” Buffy squeaked, catching her mother’s eye with a quick lip-zipping motion.

“Really now, I must object,” Giles insisted. “Keeping secrets from me is never a good thing. If you’re in trouble…”

Spike sat back with his arms folded across his chest. “Really, Rupes. I’m flattered, you thinkin’ I’m such a threat to the Summers women.”

“Do keep out of this, Spike,” Giles snapped, annoyance etched clearly on his face. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

A raised eyebrow was the vampire’s response.

“It’s just that I don’t understand how both of you can fuss so over a soulless vampire. He’s a dangerous creature. You’re the Slayer, Buffy… or don’t you remember? It’s your calling to stake him and his ilk. And you, Joyce… I don’t recall you ever being so accommodating towards Angel.”

Buffy smiled as Spike preened at her Watcher’s words. He really was getting a kick out of all the fuss.

“Well, it’s true. I never thought Angel was right for my daughter. There was just something so…”

“Broody?” Spike supplied.

“You’re not helping, bloodbreath,” Buffy muttered, slapping lightly at Spike’s shoulder.

Joyce, however, laughed. “Yes, well that does say it all doesn’t it? And Angel's no Spike, Mr. Giles. You’ll just have to learn to deal with it.”

~*~

Focusing on the task before him, Giles palpated Spike’s hand, getting a feel of the physical placement of the chip. The skin itself was exceptionally thin, and creating a flap to remove the device would be relatively simple, if messy.

Buffy sat next to Spike, unwilling to leave his side. She held on tightly to his left hand, offering her support. “Are you sure the chip won’t explode when you take it out? You know… do the self-destructo thing like in Mission Impossible?”

She could tell her Watcher was nervous by the way he kept looking at the scalpel and bowls of water on the table. A look passed between mother and daughter; one that said they hoped the house would still be standing when the operation was over.

“I’ll do the best I can, Buffy,” he grumbled.

Once a topical anesthetic had been applied, Giles got to work. He wore a doctor’s loupe while making the three incisions around the chip. Using tweezers, he gingerly peeled back the skin, revealing the device.

Lacking the working circulatory system of a normal human, Spike’s blood flowed sluggishly from the wounds, allowing Giles the time to locate the chip with a minimum of fuss and mess. Several times he had to ask Spike to remove his head from his field of vision. Blood – even his own – seemed to call to him.

The chip sparked upon extraction, causing everyone to jump in alarm. Giles quickly dropped the device into a bowl of tepid water, hoping to eliminate the chance of an explosion. When nothing further happened, he returned to Spike’s hand, securing the dime sized flap shut with several stitches.

The women breathed twin sighs of relief. Joyce gently ruffled the relieved vampire’s gelled hair, breaking the lacquered perfection into unruly tufts. “What a little trooper you are, Spike. Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

At the flash in Buffy’s eyes as she moved slightly closer to him, Spike snickered. “Don’t think that’s a wise idea, Mum. Seems the Slayer’s a bit proprietary about her vampires.”

“Oh for…” Giles sighed, rolling his eyes. “Is this the way it’s to be from now on? All happy families?”

Buffy glared at her Watcher, then turned to her mother. “Nobody lays a lip on my vampire except me,” she declared, her eyes widening slightly as she realized what she’d voiced out loud – and then at what she saw:

Joyce’s fingers had strayed from the top of Spike’s head to his neck, accidentally exposing the dark pink scar and bruises to Giles’ attention.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Buffy?” he asked, his clipped tones betraying his anger and mistrust.

The urge to fold in on herself, or to run, was strong. However, she was never going to get a better opening to bring up the claiming. Buffy took a deep breath and… as if it were perfectly timed, the front door opened to reveal Xander and Willow.

“Hey honeys, we’re home!” He stopped short at the sight of Giles with his hands moving towards Spike’s neck. “You couldn’t have held off on the fun and games until I got here, G-man?”

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Xander.” Giles bristled at the boy’s cavalier attitude. “That bite mark was made by human teeth.”

Willow gasped.

Xander paled as he came to the same conclusion as his best friend. He strode over to Buffy and pulled her sweater’s cowl away from her neck, exposing Spike’s bitemark.

“You son of a bitch! You swore you’d keep your filthy fangs to yourself,” he spat, shoving Buffy to the side in his haste to get at Spike.

Buffy’s sharp yelp of pain as she collided with the table roused Spike’s demon more than the boy’s words, and he twisted out of Giles’ grasp to go to her defense, growling and gamefaced.

“You keep your bloody hands off my mate, or I’ll rip ‘em off, myself.”

“Buffy, don’t let him hurt Xander.” Willow wrung her hands, remembering just how volatile the vampire could be when riled. “You know he only wants to keep you safe.”

“And Spike only wants to keep me safe. Why can’t anyone see that?”

Red-faced with fury, Xander turned on his friend. “How can you say that, Buff? The last time you let a vamp sink his fangs into you, we almost lost you.”

“What does it take to get through to you people?” Spike threw his hands up in frustration and began to pace around the living room. “I’m _not_ Angel. I’d never hurt the girl.”

Joyce placed herself between all the warring factions and let loose a piercing whistle. “That’s enough. All of you! This is my home, not the Coliseum. I know you have Buffy’s best interests at heart, Xander,” she said, glaring at the young man, “but it’s not your place to impose your beliefs on my daughter. She’s already got a mother, and a damned fine mind of her own.”

“But… but… fangs, and biting, and blood sucking,” Xander spluttered. “Should be Slayer and staking – not mating!”

“Maybe we don’t know everything,” Willow soothed. “Maybe there’s a really good reason for the…”

Xander was unwilling to listen. “No! No way… and don’t even try to make excuses for the bleached freak. It’s a simple matter of right and wrong, folks. Slayer good, vampire bad.”

“Really, Xander… we need to be reasonable here.” Giles removed his glasses for cleaning, trying to buy himself time as well as to refocus the boy’s attention. “What’s done can’t be undone.”

“You can’t possibly be happy about this, Giles. And Mrs. Summers… I know you have a weak spot for Fangboy, but do you really want your daughter married to a vampire?” Xander reached into his pocket and pulled out a stake. “ _This_ is how we deal with vampires. We dust ‘em, not…”

“Xander!”

“Finish that statement, you git, an’ I’ll…”

“Spike!”

“Buffy!”

“Mom!”

Another whistle from Joyce rent the air, silencing the din. “I’ve had just about as much of this nonsense as I can stand. Xander, if you can’t be reasonable, you’ll have to leave. It’s more important to figure out just what Buffy and Spike have gotten themselves into than to fight about it.”

“I still don’t see the problem,” Xander snarled, still brandishing his stake. “Aim, stake… problem go poof!”

“Um, Xander?” Willow timidly approached her best friend. “It may be more complicated than that. There are probably serious magicks involved in the claiming bites, and we don’t know what dusting Spike would do to Buffy. It’s not a good idea to be so hasty.”

“You guys can’t _do_ this. For five years you’ve been all gung-ho to kill everything with fangs, except for Angel, and personally? I’d’ve been happy to dust Deadboy no matter what. Maybe Ms. Calendar would still be alive if Buffy hadn’t been boffing the undead. No good can come of starting this up again… especially with _him._ ”

“It’s really not your call, Xander,” Buffy said, softly. “It’s my life, and I have to take responsibility for my own actions. I know you mean well, but…”

“Yeah. But you’ll do whatever you want to, same as always. And we pay for your vampire fetish.” Running his free hand through his hair, he took a deep breath to steady himself. “All righty then. Just don’t come crying to me when it all blows up in your face and the bleached wonder turns on you and someone else ends up dead. C’mon, Will. Let’s get out of here and leave the demon lovers to their own thing.”

Looking over his shoulder, he realized Willow wasn’t following. She stood next to Buffy, wringing her hands, eyes downcast.

“You’re not coming?”

With a half-smile, she said, “Sorry, Xander. I think Buffy can use my help. I-I _want_ to help. And Spike’s been really helpful the past few years. I don’t think he wants to hurt her.”

Without another word, Xander stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him, and Willow burst into tears.


	12. Seven Come Eleven

Spike’s posture was infinitely more relaxed – aided by the consumption of Joyce’s scotch. He sat on the couch, Buffy curled up against his side, as Willow and Giles studied both the chip and the available texts.

“I am so glad that thing is out of you,” Buffy murmured, gently stroking Spike’s hand near the stitches. “I don’t like the idea of something that can track you all over Sunnydale, and who knows how far beyond.”

“Can take care of m’self, love,” said Spike, leaning into Buffy like a large pale cat, “but the element of surprise goes a long way in keeping a bloke safe.”

Buffy folded her arms across her chest and stared, eyebrow cocked, daring him to forget the incident that started this whole misadventure.

Ducking his head, Spike grinned sheepishly, mumbling “Still the Big Bad” under his breath.

Giles rose from his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, probably in the hope of staving off an imminent headache. “This is useless,” he announced. “There is nothing in these ancient texts that relate to the modern technology… and now we have vampire mating rituals to research, as well.”

“I-I can still feel some kind of charge coming from the chip,” said Willow, warily, eyeing the device in its bowl of water. “It makes my skin crawl. No wonder Spike wanted to scratch it out of his hand.”

“Do you think it’s safe to take it out of the water?” asked Joyce. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“I believe so.” Grabbing his tweezers, Giles removed the chip from the bowl. It gave off a small spark, then lay silent on the table. Still using the tweezers, he picked it up and settled it gently into his handkerchief. “I think it’s best nobody else comes in contact with this… thing,” Giles said, placing the folded cloth into his jacket pocket. “It’s already imprinted on Spike’s physiology, and we don’t know if it will transmit anything else.”

Buffy nodded, absentmindedly stroking Spike’s now chip-free hand. “Let me know as soon as you have it stuck inside a ring, ‘kay? I have a funny feeling that we don’t know the half of what’s going on at the club.”

“Slayer’s intuition?” Spike asked, never taking his eyes off the girl.

“More like Buffy intuition,” she answered. “That place gives me the wiggins.”

“You know best, love, though I don’t relish that bloody chip anywhere near me again… even in a ring.”

“But we have to try,” Buffy insisted. “I can feel the sinistery vibes coming off the place. It’s my duty as the Slayer to…”

“Stick your perky little nose into anything suspicious?” Spike interrupted, tweaking said nose. Buffy smiled at him tenderly.

“I can’t just ignore what feels like a threat.” Buffy edged closer to Spike, running her fingers through his highly gelled hair, intent on setting his natural curls free. “I have to make sure everyone’s safe.”

“Oh, come on, now,” moaned Xander, who had remained conspicuously silent up until now. Apparently, he hadn’t left earlier – just slammed the door before changing his mind. “Isn’t anyone else getting nauseous from all this touchy-feely nonsense? I say we call Deadboy and let him know what Junior’s been up to. Maybe he knows how to break the claim.”

“Xander!” Willow hissed as the expressions on the blonds’ faces grew cold, Spike’s eyes throwing sparks of gold amidst the blue.

But Xander wouldn’t be deterred. “Angel’s your Sire, or so you claimed when you were gonna bite my neck back at the school. He hates you. I think we need to hear his opinion.”

“Xander, not the time and none of our business,” Willow insisted. She turned to Buffy. “Please don’t be angry,” she begged. “Xander just worries. Because, you know, vampires and biting are generally of the bad. And Xander just doesn’t want to see you hurt. I mean, we’ve patrolled with you and watched countless vampires go for the jugular. Vampires kill. That’s a fact.”

“Yes, they do,” Buffy said softly. “But not this one.”

She absentmindedly stroked her claim mark, closing her eyes at the sensation that caused. “And this isn’t going to go away, no matter how unhappy it makes you all.”

Opening her eyes, she turned to Giles. “But we do need to find out what the rules are. How much influence the claim has on both of us, and how much is our own free will.”

“Yes, yes, you’re quite right, Buffy,” Giles agreed. “Of course I’ll research vampire claims and how to break them.”  
“You most certainly will not!” Spike roared in defiance. This time, Buffy had to restrain him from going after her Watcher. He looked to his mate for reassurance before he continued, “That’s twice now there’s been mention of breaking the claim. Neither one of us wants that. We just want to know… to understand… What my mate is trying to say, is that the attraction we felt towards each other has increased since the claim, and she wants to know if it’s only the claim that’s responsible. Or if we’re just fallin’ for each other like any other couple.”

“I bet he’s not talking about a friend kind of mate now,” Xander snarked at Willow, who rolled her eyes in frustration.

“All right, that’s enough!” Joyce stood up, throwing her hands in the air. “Xander Harris, you need to remember that Spike is a guest in my home, and I won’t have you being rude to him. It’s not your concern if Spike has feelings for Buffy – it’s hers, and I’m trusting that they’ll work it out together… without your interference. Right now, I think it’s time you left. Your behavior is getting tiresome.”

Spike smirked and waggled his fingers at the irate young man, but cowed a little when Joyce’s ire turned his way.

“Don’t think that my support gives you the green light to bait Xander, William.” Joyce’s words dripped ice. “You can be very trying when you’ve a mind to be.”

“Sorry, Joyce. Promise to be on m’best behavior from now on.”

Xander glowered. “Just… be careful. I don’t trust the bleached menace and neither should any of you,” he yelled as he left – slamming the door behind him.

Giles stood at the table, busily polishing his glasses hard enough to sand the lenses. “Xander might have the right idea in calling Angel. Do stop that growling, Spike,” he said, replacing his glasses on his nose. “I’m sure a vampire that’s been around as long as he has would have some knowledge of claims.”

Buffy’s former good mood vanished. Her eyes teared up and her lower lip wobbled. “He’s going to try and kill Spike. I know he is.”

“He can try, love. He can try.” Spike pulled Buffy close and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Got a lot to unlive for these days.”

“Perhaps if you were the one to call, Buffy,” said Joyce, an attempt at compromise. “Angel tends to listen to you.”

“If we can do this over the phone,” Buffy mused, “then maybe Spike would be safe.”

“Oi! Don’t need protectin’ from that git.”

“I know, Spike, I know,” Buffy soothed. “You’re the Big Bad, after all.”

“Now she’s patronizing me,” Spike said, looking to Joyce for commiseration and finding none. “I’m telling you all, gettin’ Angel involved in this is bound to be all kinds of bad.”

“And I’m telling you, buster, that there will be no advancement in our relationship until I understand this claim stuff more. When I make love with you, it’ll be because I want to, and not because the claim makes us want to.”

“Buffy Anne Summers!”

“I’ll take this as my cue to leave,” said Giles, whose skin had developed a decidedly green pallor at the talk of impending sex between his Slayer and a vampire… again. “Buffy… you and Spike come by the Magic Box later this evening. I’ll have the ring ready by then. And, in the meantime, please reconsider calling Angel about the claim.”

~*~

After Giles left, the two blonds sat on opposite sides of the couch. Buffy pouted and said, “Don’t you want to get this straightened out between us?”

Spike growled, but took Buffy’s hands in his. “You know I do, petal,” he said reluctantly. “S’just the wanker tends to take over… run things _his_ way. I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You won’t, Spike… I promise.” Buffy was adamant, looking straight into the vampire’s blue eyes. “We were friends before this. I won’t let Angel take you away from me.”

Still grumbling, Spike agreed, “Fine. Call the bloody git. Just warnin’ ya, he’ll probably try to claw his way through the phone.”

Joyce smiled from the kitchen doorway. Her daughter was amazing. She could sell ice in Alaska given half a chance. She wiped her hands, gathered her purse and keys and called out, “Be good, you two. I’m leaving for work. I’ve got a shipment of Peruvian art to uncrate.”

“Bye, Mom!”

“Bye, Joyce!”

“Bye, Mrs. Summers.”

~*~

After the chipectomy debris was cleared away, Spike went down to the basement in an attempt to cool off, while Buffy and Willow went up to her room for a little girl talk.

It didn’t start well, both girls were anxious and uncomfortable. Slowly, however the tension thawed as they relaxed on the bed.

“So, have you done… _it_ yet?” Willow asked, with a sly grin.

“Willow Rosenberg! Did you actually ask me that without blushing?” Buffy’s mouth gaped open in faux shock.

“Well, have you?”

“No, not yet,” Buffy pouted as she shook her head. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

With a best girlfriend secret smile, Willow questioned, “Did you at least make with the smoochies and the gropies?”

“What are you – twelve?” Buffy’s soft smile belied her snarky comment. “We kissed, Willow. And there was… gropeage. Interrupted gropeage, actually.”

“Ah, the in-home-Mom-patrol?” Willow asked, sympathy coloring her eyes.

“There’s a lot to be said for having a lock on your bedroom door,” Buffy noted. “But, since Mom is being all accommodating about Spike staying in our home, keeping to her rules is probably the least we can do.”

Buffy bunched her pillow up, setting it into her lap, as she drew her legs up, Indian style. “But it’s so freaking hard, Wil! We’re both feeling it. The urges, the desire… I don’t know if we can keep things platonic while we try to figure out if the claim blame.”

“Well, it might be a sore subject,” Willow said, thoughtfully, “but maybe Xander had a point. Angel might have some information that would be useful. And then you can – you know – all you want. Or not, depending on the information.”

With a sigh, Buffy pounded her fists into her pillow. “He’s going to make things so difficult,” she whined. “Xander was right – Angel hates Spike with a passion. And Spike hates him right back. The last thing I want to discuss with Angel is how badly Spike and I want to have sex, not to mention that we’re claimed.”

“Still,” the redhead insisted gently, “Give it some thought. It might be worth the aggravation, if you can keep both of them from dusting each other.” She held out her hands, motioning first with one, then, the other. “Love life versus Angel and Spike, um… not agreeing that you should have one.”

Both girls startled at the sound of the front door slamming yet again.

“Oh, crap,” Buffy yelped. “It must be dark enough for Spike to leave, unless he was feeling particularly suicidal and grabbed his blanket. I never should have left him alone so long.”

She ran down the stairs, Willow following right behind. On the little table next to the door, there was a letter, with Buffy’s name written in beautiful Copperplate script – all loops and swirls.

_“Sorry, love. Couldn’t stand it here for one more moment with the words ‘breaking the claim’ swirling about in my noggin. I’ll meet you over at the Magic Box ‘round seven._

_Your Spike”_

“At least he left you a note,” Willow said, looking on the bright side.

“If you see Xander, tell him to stay away from me for a couple of days.” Buffy sniffled, tears glassing over her eyes. “Spike and I need our answers… not haranguing from a bigot.”

Willow’s lips wibbled as she turned and left the Summers’ house, shoulders hunched, bearing the weight of her best friends in what looked like a no-win situation.


	13. Watch Your Six

Giles glanced at his watch, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his Slayer and her… vampire. He was never going to get used to that. With Angel, it had been easier. At least at the beginning of their relationship, Angel hadn’t been out to kill… although that state of grace hadn’t lasted long. Jenny Calendar’s face flashed before his eyes, and left a deep ache within his soul. He was still in mourning all these years later for a future that had been denied them by Buffy’s vampire lover.

How in God’s name did she expect him to react to Spike’s presence in her life? To their their claimed status? Spike was the epitome of evil – un-souled, legendary killer of Slayers. Despite the evident softening of hostilities between the two over the years (Giles was loath to admit there was genuine affection), he remained uneasy. This couldn’t possibly end well for anyone.

Giles sat down at the large circular table. He pulled a small jewelers box from his pocket, turning it over in his hands. He’d found a [ring](https://k.nickpic.host/baCrbQ.jpg) that Spike shouldn’t reject out of hand – a small silver bar with a sculpted skull, and a gold compartment underneath. The chip was a perfect fit, nestled safely inside.

There were so many ways this ‘plan’ could go wrong. First of all, it was Spike’s plan. Those never panned out well – luckily enough for his Slayer – in the past. Secondly, it was _Spike’s_ plan. Giles pinched the bridge of his nose where another headache was rapidly making itself known.

The sound of the tinkling bell above the shop’s door announced the arrival of the Hellmouth’s most infamous pair.

“Hey, Giles. Whatcha got for us?” Buffy chirped, slumping down in the chair next to him.

“Rupert.” Spike tilted his head in acknowledgment.

With a deep intake of breath and a silent prayer for patience, Giles handed over the jeweler’s box.

Spike’s scarred brow rose towards his hairline. “Why, Rupert, I didn’t know you cared. Are you askin’ me for my hand in unholy matrimony?”

Buffy didn’t stifle the giggle. “Gotta love a skull engagement ring.”

“Now is not the time for frivolity.” Giles stood, flustered by the memory of the pair’s spell-induced engagement. “This adventure is fraught with danger. We have no idea if the chip will work outside of Spike’s body. And even if it does,” he paused, pulling out a handkerchief to clean the lenses of his glasses, “there’s no telling what the reaction of management will be if they find you spying on their operation.”

“I know all that, Giles,” Buffy said, chin upturned with a determined glint in her eyes. “But we need to do this. I need to do this. How am I supposed to keep Sunnydale safe from things that go bump in the night if I don’t know who they are and what they’re doing?”

Giles shook his head. He knew that once his Slayer made up her mind, there was no swaying her from her course. Still, he felt the need to warn her once again. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Buffy. Even with Spike as your backup –”

“With old Spike as your backup, Slayer,” Spike interrupted, “we’ll lay waste to the bloody place if need be.”

Buffy tried to hold back a grin, but was only mostly successful. “I’m sure it won’t come to that. But if it does… I’ve been known to torch a club or two. I’m an experienced arsonist,” she said with pride.

“Fine, fine,” Giles conceded. “Joke all you like, just watch your backs. They’re likely to be watching you just as closely.”

~*~

On the way home to Revello Drive, Buffy stopped and grabbed Spike’s hands. “What are we gonna do?” she said, plaintively.

“Do about what, love?”

“The claim! Nobody’s come up with anything, and –”

“Your motor’s racing?” Spike’s scarred eyebrow did that jumpy thing that made her belly twist.

“Oh god,” Buffy groaned, dramatically. “I just wanna throw you down and ride you like a mechanical bull. Mom used to love the movie _Urban Cowboy_. She used to get that glazed look in her eyes watching John Travolta ride that thing, and I’m finally beginning to understand why.”

Spike shook his head, sighing. “I’m half-tempted to call old Neanderbrow myself. I’ve never been one for self-reflection or delayed gratification, Slayer. Oh, the wicked things I want to do with you,” he said, sliding his hands over her arms; looking at her with those gorgeous blue eyes of his.

She whimpered. She actually freaking _whimpered_ her distress. “If the gang doesn’t come up with _something_ in the next day or so, I swear you’ll have to get in line behind me.” Buffy stamped her foot, like a frustrated toddler. “It’s not the sex – well, it’s not just the sex,” she amended. “I want to be close to you in every way I can. This being in limbo sucks!”

“That it does, kitten. That it does.”

~*~

Once again dressed to the nines, Buffy and Spike stood in front of Crazy Eight’s chip panel. “Here goes nothin’,” Spike muttered.

Buffy held her breath as Spike placed his hand under the light. And waited. And waited some more. Finally, the door opened and they walked in, to be greeted by the ubiquitous Ailuros. Buffy couldn’t help but stare. This time the woman was dressed in a skin-tight cat-suit that looked painted on. The silver material sparkled as the light hit it; one couldn’t look away from the marked contrast it made against her tawny skin.

“Take a picture, Ssslayer,” Ailuros drawled, stretching her long legs and switching her tail. “As for you, Ssspike… I’m not entirely sure of your welcome here tonight.”

“There a problem, pet?”

“Let’s just sssay there have been whispers about the pair of you ever sssince that awkwardly public display of your claiming.”

Buffy snorted her displeasure. “At least you’re no longer denying the fact, you catty bitch,” she said, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

Ailuros tipped her nose up, whickers twitching and her ears flattened slightly. “All show and no substance,” she said, haughtily. “But ssstill, a claim’s a claim, and it should keep you from being bothered by unwanted attention.”

“Are you keeping us from entering the club for a reason, Pussy Galore?” Spike snapped, obviously having reached the limit of his patience.

A Cheshire grin appeared on the cat demon’s face as Spike and Buffy were grabbed from behind by a couple of large bouncer types.

“I did try to warn you,” Ailuros said, snippily. “Management wants to see you both.

~*~

They made a show of struggling against their captors – just enough to look legit – and allowed themselves to be manhandled into a private office. In true Dr. Evil fashion, the crowd of enforcers parted to reveal a chair slowly turning around.

Buffy could’ve sworn she heard a musical score in the background as the occupant was leisurely revealed.

“William the Bloody keeping company with Sunnydale’s own slayer – Buffy Summers, all grown up,” crowed Ethan Rayne, looking as smug as could be.

Buffy turned to Spike, rolling her eyes and relaxing the tension in her muscles. “ _This_ is the idiot behind whatever’s going on with this club?” She shook off the restraining hands and placed her hands own hands on her hips. “What’s the matter, Ethan? Run out of band candy?”

“That was child’s play, silly girl. We’re in the big leagues, here.”

“Are you responsible for sending out the goon squad that attacked Spike?”

“Nothing personal,” Rayne said, then recanted. “No – make that definitely personal. You have a way of pissing people off, vampire.”

“Wasn’t causin’ any trouble,” Spike shook off the minions holding him, his eyes blazing with hatred. “Doesn’t mean I won’t now.”

Cracking the vertebrae in his neck, Spike looked more dangerous than he had in years. And Buffy couldn’t help being the teensiest bit impressed by the level of self-control her vampire was displaying.

“You might want to re-think that, Spike,” Ethan said, actually rubbing his hands together like a movie villain. “We know you removed the member chip. Without the blood, it doesn’t work, but we have other ways of keeping track of miscreants like you.”

“You wanna be like all the other cartoon villains and make with the exposition, Ethan?” It was all Buffy could do not to yawn in the man’s face. If she had a dollar for every Big Bad that bragged about their plans, she’d be a wealthy Slayer.

“I don’t see why not. It’s not like either of you two are going to be leaving here any time soon.” He looked insufferably pleased with himself. 

Where, oh where was Giles with a good punch when you needed him? Buffy rolled her eyes, tapping her foot in irritation.

The door opened, and one of the club’s minions dragged in a protesting vampire. “I’ll pay, I swear it,” the vamp begged, looking around the room for support – and, of course, finding none.

Ethan stood up from behind his desk, a brick-sized black box with a bright red button on top in his hand. “This is what happens when our members fail to live up to their obligations,” he sneered, placing the box on the struggling vampire’s back and pushing the button.

A soft hum filled the air, and the captive vampire began to writhe and scream. It was all over in moments. The vamp went still, and fell to the floor. Ethan kicked the body over – it was nothing more than a husk. It looked for all the world like Spike’s description of a starved vampire, minus the bloated belly.

Buffy couldn’t help herself – she turned her head away and dry heaved. In the end, she couldn’t tell who made the first move. She and Spike turned as one, elbowed the guards in their ribs, and sprinted for the door.

“Give my regards to Rupert,” Ethan yelled at the couple’s retreating backs. “Let ‘em go,” he ordered his security team. “They’re not leaving Sunnydale. They come snooping back here again, and we’ll do this again – for real.”


	14. Take Five

Hours later, sitting in Giles’ livingroom, Buffy stewed. Then stewed some more. She was a veritable head chef of stewdom. “How in the hell is that cockroach still causing trouble in my town?” she demanded of her Watcher.

Giles shook his head. “Ethan has always been capable of pulling off the most inane stunts and then escaping the consequences. I had hoped that, after his stint in the Initiative cells, he would be more circumspect. Clearly, I was wrong again.”

“You want me to take the git out, Rupert?” Spike paced circles around the room, obviously unable to sit still for even a moment.

Giles shook his head. “If anyone is going to take out Ethan, it’s going to be me. He’s always been my responsibility.”

Buffy watched the flare of Spike’s nostrils and suspected that violence was imminent. Clearly, learning that the attack he’d suffered through was simply a whim of Giles’ old whatever he was, had him riled.

She half expected him to fragment at any moment and come apart at the seams.

Centering herself, she took a few deep breaths, and projected calm, understanding thoughts towards her maniacally pacing vampire.

A minute later, Spike stopped mid-stride and, turned to Buffy with a look of awe in his eyes.

“Did you do that?” he asked, coming to sit by her side. “How – when – did you know you could do that?”

“I don’t know; I just had to try something. I figured I’d send it out into the ether in the hope of reaching you and whattya know, it worked. Can you…?”

Immediately, Buffy was hit with an intense wave of lust and desire. “Oh hell yeah,” she murmured. “It goes both ways.”

“What _are_ the two of you jabbering on about?” Giles asked.

“We’ve discovered a new claim trick.” Buffy grinned, a blush forming along her cheeks and the tips of her ears. “And Spike is very, very good at it.”

The vampire preened, and did it again, almost causing Buffy to fall off her perch on the couch. “Stop that,” she hissed. “Not in front of my Watcher!”

“Oh dear lord. You old reprobate, Spike,” Giles turned his stern countenance his way. “Stop it at once!”

“Giles!” Buffy blush deepened, all the way down her décolletage. Unrepentant, Spike.

Spike nuzzled into her neck, taking deep lungful’s of air, as if trying to inhale her. “Spike!”

They were interrupted by the sound of knocking on the door. “Behave yourselves,” it was Giles turn to hiss before he opened the door to an irate Angel.

Angel’s eyes pivoted immediately to Spike and he charged towards his grandchilde.

“What did you do, idiot?” he yelled, grabbing Spike by the front of his t-shirt. “Who the hell did you turn? And why do you and Buffy suddenly look like the best of friends?”

“I haven’t turned anyone,” Spike protested, yanking himself free of Angel’s grasp.

“What are you here, Angel?” Buffy asked, truly perplexed. He hadn’t been in touch since he’d left for Los Angeles after Prom. “Did someone call you?” she asked, suspiciously.

“I wouldn’t put it past the whelp, Slayer,” Spike muttered. “He threatened to do it, if you remember.”

“Whelp?” Angel questioned. “Do you mean Xander? Why the hell would he call me?” Again he turned his attention to Spike and reiterated, “What did you do?”

“First off, Gramps, _I don’t turn people_. That was always more your thing, _not_ mine.”

“Then why do I feel another presence along the family bloodline?” Now it was Angel’s turn to look perplexed. “There was also a sense of something ominous – a threat.”

Spike laughed, a full, deep-throated rumble of amusement. “Since when do you care about the family line? Since you got the soul, we’ve been pariahs to you.”

“Yes, Angel. Do tell why you’ve barged into my home and started roughing up Spike… not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, of course.” Giles barely managed to contain the smile threatening to break out on his face.

Angel pointed to a chair. “Do you mind?” When there were no objections, he sat.

Buffy walked over to Angel. “I’ll explain, but you have to promise me you’ll stay calm.” In need of support, she glanced at Spike and felt a wave of something reassuring and warm in return. Gaining confidence, she continued, “And you need to keep your hands off Spike, or I promise you I’ll live up to my calling.”

_Oh no – not the dreaded puppy dog eyes._ Happily, Buffy found herself totally unmoved. “Spike and I had a bit of a situation a couple of weeks ago,” she began, wringing her hands – a habit she’d developed when she was nervous.

“We were undercover in a new club, posing as a mated couple because the clientele was mainly vampires. We were suddenly surrounded and challenged; they were trying to take me away from Spike by declaring we weren’t claimants… Which, you know, we weren’t.”

Spike joined her, wrapping his arm around her waist, seemingly unfazed by the hostile sub-vocal growls the elder vampire was making.

“I’d promised to protect her, and honestly had never entertained the idea of initiating an actual claim, especially in public, but the Slayer was being pulled from my grasp, and the scene was getting ugly. I did the only thing that would guarantee her safety.”

“You bit her! You claimed my – her!” Angel roared, his eyes turning sulfurous. “You fucking little bastard. How dare you –”

“How dare he what, Angel? Protect me? Keep me from becoming a meal for some other vampire? You weren’t there. You couldn’t possibly know what was going on or how bad it was.”

“What happened next was the real surprise,” Spike continued. “The little minx shocked the hell out of me by claiming me back.” He pulled down the neckline of his tee to show off the imprint of her blunt teeth. “Trust me, we were both stunned, even though the Slayer had no idea of what she’d actually done.”

“I don’t have to defend my actions to you. Angel. I might not have known I was returning the claim and closing the bond, but it felt right at that moment. I usually tend to trust my instincts, so I went with my gut. And here we are. Claimed. Mated. Bonded for life.”

Each word seemed to hit Angel like a blow.

“We were thinking of calling you,” Giles offered. “We were hoping you would have information about the nature of such claims.”

“Breaking the claim would be next to impossible, if you want both claimants to live through it.” Angel looked as if he’d lost his best friend.

“Why does everyone think we want to break the bloody claim?” Spike exploded. “We just want to know if it’s the claim causing the closeness that we’ve been feeling lately.”

Buffy nodded her agreement. “I’m sorry, Angel. I’m not looking to break the claim at all. I just want to know what kind of free will we still have with the claim in place.”

Buffy’s words seemed to take the wind from Angel’s sails and his fangs retreated.

“The truth is, all I know about claims is that they’re usually between two vampires, occasionally between vampires and humans. There’s nothing written about a claim between a vampire and a slayer.”

“So all your vaunted knowledge is useless, then?” Spike snarked, hugging Buffy closer to him.

With more patience than he usually showed his errant family, Angel continued reluctantly. “What I can tell you, is this: the claim only accentuates what is already there. It can’t manufacture feelings. It’s why a forced mating is never successful – the couple usually ends up tearing each other apart.

“If you and Spike are having feeling for each other,” he said, rolling his eyes, “then the feelings were already there to begin with.”

Buffy whooped with unbridled glee, pulling Spike’s face to hers for a bruising kiss. “Angel, I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, upon coming up for air.

Angel looked to Giles for commiseration. “What the hell does she see in him?”

“Honestly, Angel?” Giles replied with a shrug.“I don’t have a bloody clue but, it appears, he makes her happy. Considering the hard lot in life slayers have, I’m glad she has someone to hold onto and anchor her place in the world.”

Angel harrumphed, his face decidedly green around the gills. “I don’t have to sit here and watch them have at each other, at least,” he said, standing and heading towards the door. “If he hurts her in any way, however… ”

“Yeah, yeah, Gramps, you’ll stake me good and proper. Sing me a new one, Angel,” Spike said, rising from his Buffy gropefest momentarily. “I’d offer myself for the stake if I were to cause Buffy any pain.”

“As long as we’re all in agreement, then,” Giles concluded. “I think I’ll take myself out for a walk. I could do with a bit of fresh air.”

His words, however, fell on deaf ears… as Spike and Buffy had already resumed their amorous activities, and Angel had left the building.


	15. The Four Horsemen

Friday evening found Willow Rosenberg holding court in her parent’s usually off-limits living room. Ira and Sheila were once again out of state following a lecture tour of some sort… Willow hadn’t bothered to ascertain which of her parents’ interests had taken precedence over their daughter this time.

She had her best friend, Xander, and his unusually abrasive girlfriend, along for the ride. And her one truly bright spot – Tara, fellow magicks enthusiast and truly wonderful girlfriend. They were all parked in front of the coffee table, which was piled high with doughy-cheesy-pizza goodness and caffeine-laden sodas – just the kind of junk food frowned upon in the Rosenberg household.

It made Willow feel like a true rebel – lesbian love interest _and_ junk food – a winning combination in her book.

“So,” Xander began, his mouth full of food. “Are we gonna address the elephant in the room?”

“Not the actual pachyderm,” Anya clarified. “I’m sure Xander wants to know how he can break the claim between Buffy and Spike.”

“Jeez, Anya, way to go in the tact department,” Willow grumbled. “We’re not trying to steamroll anyone with our opinions.”

“I beg to differ. If Xander had his way, he’d stake Spike and carry Buffy off caveman-style into the woods for a ravishing.”

“Anya!” Xander turned a rather unattractive shade of blotchy red. “You know that’s not true. Well,” he amended, “most of it’s not true.”

“I-I’m sure it’s not like that,” Tara said, softly. “Xander is your boyfriend, after all, Anya.”

“That’s my point!” Anya shrilled. “He claims to love me, but he’s still got this ridiculously unrequited crush on Buffy. He breaks our plans at the drop of a hat to go out on patrol with her, and he’s extremely breakable with no super strength or battle training at all.” She shifted fractionally away from her boyfriend, “Why would he would insist on hanging around someone who obviously doesn’t want him when he has me?”

“Well, maybe if you gave him some space, occasionally…,” Willow suggested gently, but was met with a glare that could melt steel, so she kept the rest of her opinions to herself.

“Are we forgetting the whole point of this meeting, you guys?” Xander demanded. “Buffy is hanging around her second vampire – who is totally unsouled and evil and not to be trusted – and he bit her! He needs dusting, pronto!”

“You’re supposed to be Buffy’s friend.” Tara pointed out timidly. She seemed to gather her gumption and continued. “I don’t think that entitles you to choose who she spends her time with; who she might love. And, from what we found out, the claim is serious… and it’s none of our business.”

“Whoa, baby.” Willow tried to mediate the situation. “You don’t know what Spike was like when he first came to town. He kidnapped me and Xander, and tried to kill Buffy a bunch of times. It’s not like we don’t have a reason to mistrust him.”

Tara’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But you said that you and Buffy girl-talked it out and that you were willing to see what unfolded.”

“I know, I know. We did talk, and shared all the girly feels, and she seems so happy, but –”

“No buts!” Anya interjected. “Tara said it best. It’s none of our business, especially since they both seem so happy about the claim and their blossoming relationship. How would you feel if Buffy didn’t like the fact that you’re getting groiny with Tara? If she thought it was a perversion, and tried to get you to end the relationship?”

She pivoted to her boyfriend. “And Xander, how would you feel if Buffy told you that, because I’m an ex-demon with a millennia worth of blood on my hands, that she needed to stake me for your own good?”

“Hey!” Willow exclaimed. “She wouldn’t do that!”

“The Buffster’s not like that. She wouldn’t –”

“That’s right,” Tara pointed out softly. “Buffy wouldn’t try to dictate your personal lives. So why do you think you have the right to dictate hers?”

Both Willow and Xander shut their mouths. Neither one could come up with a single reason for their continuing interference in Buffy’s personal life.

Anya, turned to Tara and announced, “I knew there was a reason I liked you – you have brains in that pretty head of yours.” She considered for a moment, and then added excitedly, “You should come to more Scooby meetings. I think you’d make a valuable contribution.”

Tara blushed. “I, ummm…”

“Although I warn you, they’re not exactly welcoming. I’m marginalized. And ignored. And told that I just don’t get human ways.”

Anya’s eyes narrowed. “And I get ‘em, all right. I’ve spent a millennium punishing men for their ‘human behavior’,” Anya made air quotes, glaring in Xander’s direction. “If I had my powers…”

“All right, all right, I’m sorry, sweetie.” Xander had the good grace to at least look contrite. “I promise to try and keep my opinions to myself. You know we want you to be a part of our Scooby meetings.”

Tara looked surprised to be dragged into the tirade, but Anya continued, anyway. “Tara is a very powerful witch, who’s been practicing far longer than Willow. And yet, you all delegate her to outsider status and turn to Willow when there’s a need for magic.”

Anya turned to Tara. “I say it’s time we both stood up and demanded to be recognized for the amazing women we are!”

Tara cast Willow a look of quiet appeal and said, quietly, “Maybe if you’d show a little pride in what I bring to the table, I’d feel more comfortable with your friends. And they’d want to be friendlier with me… not just nodding at me in passing as your girlfriend.”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Willow cooed. “I didn’t mean to push you into the background. Of course I’m proud of you. I wasn’t attracted to you only for your looks, you know. I love your big squishy brain, too.” Willow was relieved to see a small smile grace Tara’s lips.

“So,” Tara pressed, “in honor of me no longer being a wallpaper witch, are you and Xander willing to acknowledge Buffy’s autonomy in regards to her love life?”

“Well, Xander,” Anya demanded, “are you? Will you remember you have a willing orgasm-providing girlfriend of your own, and no longer need to fantasize about a woman who has no interest in you?”

Blushing red to the tips of his ears, Xander simply nodded.

Willow knew he was still going to have a hard time accepting Spike in Buffy’s life. He’d been hard-wired to hate vamps ever since Angel had gone on his rampage of murder and mayhem. The fact that Angel was Spike’s grandsire only added fuel to the hate fire.

Willow acknowledged that she would have to make some personal changes as well. Buffy was not her doll, to do with as she pleased. Buffy was entitled to make her own choices, even if Willow didn’t agree with them. It wasn’t her place. She’d have to repeat that as her mantra every night until it sunk in.

She took a calming breath and looked out around the room. “Okay, you guys. I think we’ve covered the stupid, stubborn and blind friends part of the evening. Whattya say we raid the freezer for Ben and Jerry’s, with heaping helpings of multiple toppings, and watch a couple of movies?”

“Do Tara and I get a say in what we watch this time?” Anya asked, with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “I say we go for something really girly-girly for a change. No fighting, no stupid Three Stooges, okay?”

“Girl-on-girl porn?” Xander asked.

His hopeful expression earned him several pillows tossed at his head.


	16. Three's a Crowd

Buffy paced back and forth in her room, the small circuit not doing anything to alleviate her anxiety. It was time to have the talk. It was _**THE**_ talk – the one with her mother. The one she’d been avoiding for the past couple of days.

After Angel’s little revelation about what the claim could and could not (to the best of his knowledge) do and his subsequent call reminding them about the lack of information regarding Slayer/Vampire claims, Buffy’s anxiety levels had ratcheted up to new levels.

She and Spike had become inseparable, but so far – in part due to their promise to Mom – the action hadn’t moved beyond heated grope-age. But the situation was rapidly becoming intolerable.

Buffy had tried to talk to her Mom the previous night, but the words she needed to say had stuck in her throat. She needed backup; this was gonna have to be a two-man tag-team effort. Spike had thankfully promised he’d take part. Her mother was bound to insist on knowing just how much control the claim had on her daughter, and if she had free will to deny her amorous vampire.

There was no way Mom was ready to acknowledge that Spike wasn’t the only one ready to strip naked at the drop of a hat and indulge in hot monkey sex.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the object of her desire.

“Oi, Buffy. You’re gonna wear a track in the floor with all the back and forth.” He looked at her with those soft blue eyes. “Are we doin’ this or not? Yer mum’s already waiting in the living room.”

Gathering her resolve, she replied, “Then it’s time to face the inquisition.”

Linking arms, they headed down the stairs.

“I was wondering if you two had changed your minds,” Joyce laughed uneasily as the couple came into view. “I think I’m as nervous as I was the first time Buffy and I had _the_ talk.”

Spike rubbed the back of his neck; a sure sign of his own nerves. It might have been 2001, the beginning of a new century, but Buffy’s soon-to-be-lover had his social mores formed in the Victorian era, when such things were never discussed in polite company – much less directly with his intended’s mother.

“You know, this is going to go nowhere fast if one of us doesn’t take the initiative,” Joyce offered, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “So I guess, being the only adult here, it’s up to me.”

Spike couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped. “Not to nit-pick, but I’ve got about a hundred years on you, Joyce.”

“I was referring to maturity, not chronological age, William,” Joyce shot back, laughter in her voice. And just like that, the tension in the room lessened considerably. “Okay, back on topic, if you please. I remember your main concern, Buffy, was that your feelings weren’t your own – that you wouldn’t act on your attraction to Spike without the claim in place, right?”

Buffy nodded warily. Her mom could open softly, but then BANG, the hammer would come down.

“So,” Joyce asked, “what did Angel have to say about the power of claims?”

“The git – erm, Angel – said that, to his knowledge, the claim wasn’t responsible for manufacturin’ feelings,” Spike said, with no hint of the real rancor he was capable of when Angel was part of the conversation. “It does, however, certainly _enhance_ whatever feelings were already there.”

“I see,” Joyce nodded slowly, looking back and forth between her daughter and the vampire. “So, I was right. You two have been drifting closer to each other for a number of years now; ever since you stopped actively trying to kill each other.”

“Well, it’s not like Spike is hard to look at.” Buffy smiled, running her fingers through his hair. Spike rolled his eyes as she managed to free several tufts of hair from their gelled prison.

“And you oughta know better than anyone that your daughter is a helluva woman, Joyce,” Spike offered, softness infusing his countenance as he looked into Buffy’s eyes.

“An awfully _young_ woman, need I remind you?”

“That’s a given, Joyce,” Spike readily agreed. “However, you can rest assured that I will do my best to keep her safe – and that includes from me, if necessary. I think, no, I’m pretty sure that I love her.”

Buffy’s eyes opened wide at his declaration, her hand coming to her mouth in shock.

“I’m sorry, love,” Spike said, taking her small hands in his larger ones. “I should’ve addressed those words to _you_ , the first time I said ‘em. But I’ll say them again – over and over, if you let me.” The words weren’t hesitant the second time, they were a declaration. “I love you, Buffy Summers.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” Buffy stammered, her cheeks pinking in a soft blush. “I know I have feelings for you, too. It’s still rather early to call it love,” she said, softly. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Oh, pet,” he sighed, enfolding her into a hug. “Take all the time you need to sort your feelings. Just ‘cause I’m sure of mine, doesn’t mean you have to force things.”

Joyce smiled. “Sounds like you two will treat each other’s hearts carefully. Believe me, I’m grateful for that…” Buffy could tell she was gearing up for that dreaded hammer. “However, issues of the heart and issues of the body are two different things.”

BANG!!

“Mother!” Buffy practically shrieked.

“Buffy!!” Joyce shot back. “I was young once, too, you know. And I’ve already seen the two of you all over each other. It’s no large leap to posit that you’ll be sexually active as soon as you get the chance.”

If possible, Spike’s complexion looked several shades paler than normal.

“You’re a healthy twenty year old woman.” her mother bravely continued. 

Spike was sinking ever deeper into the couch. And Joyce looked as if she were enjoying herself just a little too much. “And Spike, well, I’m sure you’re more than ready to…”

Buffy called her on it before things could go any further. “Fine, _Mother_ ,” she said, a little steel in her voice. “We all know where we stand. Spike and I are healthy little horndogs, and we can’t wait to push you out of the house so we can make with the whoopee! Three’s a crowd, after all.”

“Oh, my,” Joyce simpered, standing up with her hand against her forehead. “I do believe I feel an attack of the vapors coming on.”

“Now you’re being downright cruel, Mom!” Buffy laughed at her mother’s antics. “Really, though, don’t you have to be at the gallery?”

“I do, indeed, my darling horndog,” Joyce laughed. “All I ask is that you leave the walls standing and don’t frighten any of the neighbors. I have a reputation to maintain, after all.”

Spike’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he said, “We’ll be quiet as little church mice.”

Before she left, Joyce looked over her shoulder and asked, “I don’t suppose that vampires carry diseases of any sort, or have to worry about birth control, do they?”

BANG BANG Maxwell’s silver hammer came down on their heads as she scooted outside and closed the door behind her.

No sooner had the door latched, Buffy turned sparkling green eyes on her intended partner. “The cat’s away,” she purred, putting an exaggerated sway into her hips. “Time for the little silent church mice to play.”

“And just what’s on offer for this poor, starving little church mouse?” Little flashes of amber lit his baby blues as he stood slowly.

“A little piece of cheese, perhaps,” she teased, unhooking her bra as she backed away, heading for the stairs.

“And when the small piece of cheese is all gobbled up, and the little mouse is still hungry?”

Buffy laughed, enjoying the freedom of being alone with the vamp – man – she… definitely had feelings for. “Why, I suppose there’s always another bit of cheese,” she offered, pulling her bra out from under her shirt and tossing it behind her.

“And when this bored little mouse tires of cheese?” Spike practically growled in anticipation of what was to come.

“Why, then, I suppose I could offer him something else – perhaps fruit?” she asked, as she dropped her shoes, one at a time, as she climbed the stairs towards her room.

“Cheese and fruit are hardly enough to sustain the poor little mouse,” Spike continued their game, prowling towards the stairs. “Do you have anything more substantial for him to nibble?”

A pair of pink satin panties that she’d shimmied out from under her skirt hit him on the head, as she squealed and ran into her room, Spike hot on her heels in pursuit.

With a pounce, Spike landed on the bed, Buffy beneath him. “Think the poor little mouse is all tuckered out now,” he said, gently stroking her face. “But the big, bad vampire is raring to go.”

“Not with all his clothes on,” Buffy retorted, raising a well-sculpted brow.

Spike managed to shuck his boots, jeans and shirt in record time, and resume his place. “Better, love?”

“Way better,” she agreed, staring at his rampant erection as it bobbed towards her. “Beats the little mouse all to pieces,” she admitted as she reached out and gently tugged on his hardened flesh.

Spike hissed as her hand made contact and pushed himself into her warm embrace.

“Whoa there, fella,” Buffy laughed. “We’ve got hours to play before Mom comes home. After all the buildup, I wanna enjoy this.”

“My sentiments, exactly, Sl – Buffy,” he corrected himself quickly. “My Buffy. My very own delicious Valkyrie, come down from Valhalla for me to worship.”

“Mmmm,” was all Buffy could manage, as he stroked her body down to the tips of her toes and back up again; kneading her aching breasts and thumbing her tight nipples before suckling first one, then the other into his cool mouth.

“Oh god!” Buffy’s moan grew louder as Spike lavished her body with butterfly kisses. His lips blazed a path of heat from sternum to navel; then, slowly, steadily, headed lower.

“Gonna see to you right, Buffy,” he murmured as he placed a kiss to her neatly trimmed mons. “Such a beautiful sight, a treasure to behold,” he added, as he softly spread her labia to admire her glistening core.

Suddenly self-conscious, she tried to close her legs, but he gently used his hands to spread them further apart.

“No need to be shy, kitten,” Spike said, followed by a flat-tongued lick from perineum to clitoris that had Buffy arching up off the mattress with a deep, guttural moan. “Let me give you the veneration you deserve.” With that, he set to his task with great fervor – altering the shape of his tongue and lips to stroke, suck and enter her with enthusiasm bordering on the religious.

She felt Spike’s eyes bore into her as her first orgasm exploded through her body and she cried out her satisfaction.

“Looks like this little church mouse has found her voice at last,” he chuckled fondly, slowly bringing her down from the brink of ecstasy. “What do you say to having a go at another chorus?”

“I’d say it’s a good thing Mom left… ‘cause if that’s me being quiet, she’s gonna need a truckload of earplugs to survive us in the future.” She shifted slightly, gazing into his dazzling blue eyes and noticing the moisture on his chin and lips. “C’mere,” she murmured, guiding his lips to hers for a deep, heartfelt kiss; her taste on his lips a somewhat heady concoction.

“Dealer’s choice,” she offered. “My turn to make with the happy? Or do we finally get to make love?”

“Such a multitude of riches, my Buffy,” he murmured. “Let’s start with one, move onto the other, and do it over and over again?” His cock apparently agreed with him, as it wedged itself into the apex of her thighs, hard and insistent. “Open up for your Spike, won’t you?”

She reached for him, rubbing the head of his cock against her dewy lips, before guiding him inside. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every inch he conquered.

“You’re going to be the death of me, pet – one way or the other,” he sighed as he nestled in as far as he could go. “What a bloody brilliant way to go.”

The next five hours were filled with the thorough exploration of each other’s bodies, taking note of each hot-spot for future reference. When they separated for the final time, both lay replete against each other – sweat drying on Buffy’s skin and Spike as toasty warm as he’d ever been since his turning.

“Now _that_ was worth the wait,” Buffy murmured into Spike’s chest.

“Thank bloody Christ that we don’t ever have to wait so long again,” Spike answered, kissing the crown of Buffy’s head. “We were magnificent, if I say so, myself.”

“Seconded,” she replied softly. “When I can move my legs again, we need to shower. There’s no need to rub Mom’s nose in the fact that we’ve boinked ourselves silly.”

The lure of a nap prevailed, however, and both Buffy and Spike slipped into a well-satisfied slumber.


	17. Two-Faced

Buffy looked around the Magic Box while they waited for Giles, taking in the vibe of those in attendance. This meeting had the makings of another disaster. It was a full house: Willow had brought Tara along; and Xander was back, this time accompanied by Anya who wasn’t exactly known for her tact.

Anya’s presence at Scooby meetings was atypical; Tara’s was almost unprecedented.

Buffy understood why they usually chose to opt out – when they did show up, they were generally relegated to the background. Non-participatory roles. So the question was… why were they here, today?

Buffy shrugged her mental shoulders – time would tell all.

With a contented sigh, she leant up against Spike, who was sitting in his usual spot on the stairs. She found herself suddenly at peace in his proximity, as if harsh feelings were mellowed out. He provided unerring support when everyone else questioned her every decision or theory. It was… nice.

She smiled, then blushed. It was also _hot_ \- as in making her squirm in her seat. Just thinking about Spike had a tendency to do that, lately.

“Oi, Slayer,” Spike said quietly, nudging her with his shoulder. “I’d ask what’s on your mind, but I don’t really have to, do I?” The grin on his face proved his point.

“This bondy thing can be sorta inconvenient,” she whispered. “Takes the mystery out of ‘will they or won’t they’, doesn’t it?”

“Not a bad thing in my book,” he laughed. “It’s just a matter of location that’s in question. Don’t think any of your Scooby bunch would appreciate the show, do you?”

“Considering we get the evil eye for just sitting together, nope, I don’t think the full monty Spike and Buffy Show would be welcome.”

Spike’s eyes glazed over as he said, “Can think it, though, with nobody being the wiser.”

The blush on Buffy’s cheeks deepened. “Something tells me they’re not as clueless as we’d like to think they are.”

Sure enough, the Scoobies in question were steadfastly _not_ looking at them.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” Giles called out as he entered from the back room. “I’ve been trying to ascertain just how those chips function as a conduit of information from the client to whatever type of storage facility the club uses.”

He took a seat at the table. “The only explanation that seems feasible is magic. And, Buffy,” he said, turning in her direction, “considering Ethan Rayne is involved, I daresay he’s the one responsible for them.”

“He always did like to be in the middle of things, stirring up the pot,” she agreed. “Remember, he was also a middleman of sorts for that vat-o-demon, Lukomas, with the band candy.”

“Lurconis, actually,” Giles corrected. “And the chaos he invoked that Halloween by summoning Janus.”

“Sounds like a tricky bastard,” Spike agreed. “What’s to be done with him? Does he need puttin’ down?”

“Typical,” Xander muttered out from his seat at the research table. “The vamp’s first response is to kill?”

Anya clipped her boyfriend about the ear. “Didn’t we talk about this?” she hissed. “Listen first, react later if you have to.”

“I’m just saying that the first choice doesn’t have to be murder,” Xander insisted. “Maybe Ethan needs another couple of years with the Initiative, not that it seems to have curbed his creep-factor tendencies,” he admitted, somewhat mulishly.

Tara timidly raised her hand. “Excuse me, but perhaps you might want to do a binding spell, to take away his access to his powers?”

“Way to go, sweetie,” Willow encouraged, patting her girlfriend on the shoulder. “Giles, that sounds like a terrific idea. And totally not murder-y or anything.”

Giles nodded. “Binding Ethan’s powers might be a bit tricky. The old codger’s been around long enough to have worked many protective layers into his person.” He removed his glasses and gave them an unnecessary polish. “But I agree with Tara – a little restraint might be a good thing. And it can be done, we just have to be cleverer than him.”

Resettling his glasses, he added, “However, in the event the binding fails, we will have to look at more permanent measures to put an end to his meddling.”

“And again I say, does he need puttin’ down?” Spike seemed reluctant to let the matter go. “And if he does, who do you propose doing the deed?” 

Ignoring the vampire’s attempt to steer the conversation back to murder, Giles said, “I believe it’s time I met with Ethan directly. I’ll see if I can knock some sense into him one way or another.” The gleam in his eye hinted at the hidden depths beneath his mild mannered shopkeeper persona.

“Do you think it’s safe for you to go by yourself?” Buffy asked, worry marring her brow. “Spike and I should come with you.”

“Didn’t go so well the last time we showed up, Slayer,” Spike pointed out. “Let the old man do his thing. He’s clearly got more up his sleeve.”

“Thank you, Spike, for your support,” Giles said, not unkindly. “Ethan and I have a long and messy history where magicks are involved, but I don’t believe he’ll harm me.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Buffy agreed reluctantly.

Spike withdrew a calling card from his pocket and handed it to the Watcher. “Number’s here, ask for Ailuros. If she’s in the mood, she’ll give the blighter your message.”

~*~

Once the children had left, Giles turned the club’s card over and over again between his fingers, contemplating the dilemma in which he found himself.

What had happened to the quixotic youth with the sparkling blue eyes? They’d shared so much together back then; days full of foolhardy mischief and nights full of wild lovemaking. Until ultimately they’d gotten in way over their heads – Eyghon proving to be their undoing.

Giles had pulled himself out from under the rubble of his life but Ethan, it seemed, was still buried in the debris of the occult, still seeking the next high – either physically or metaphorically. A natural follower – a hanger-on – he was always looking for the next powerful being to worship.

Giles would have preferred not to acknowledge the fact, but he knew. That reverence had been part of the attraction in their past – Ethan had absolutely worshipped Ripper Giles. And Ripper had taken all and more that Ethan was willing to give.

And now Ethan’s nature made him easy prey for those who wanted nothing more than to exploit him for his magic… and for what he could do for them. And if Ethan was used up in the process? It didn’t matter.

None of that sat well with Giles. He slammed the card down on the table and began to pace, anger welling up hot and impatient in his breast. He wanted to pummel something – someone! Oh god, he wanted to wrap his hands around Ethan’s neck and squeeze the folly out of him.

In that moment, he sympathized with Spike – murder didn’t seem like such a bad way to solve all their problems. To keep his children and the rest of Sunnydale safe from the predators using The Crazy Eights as a base.

Maybe, just maybe… if they could destroy whatever it was that produced the chips, they could force the club to shut down and if Ethan could be removed from the equation, they’d be out of business for good; unable to set up shop anywhere else.

The question remained – what would it take to remove Ethan from the mix? A restraining spell was a long shot. And he wouldn’t willingly rein in his magicks, not with the potential for chaos they caused. Handing him over to the police would be useless, and the Initiative was no longer an option. Not that they seem to have done Ethan any good.

Giles stopped and regained his seat. Head in hands, he came to the unpleasant conclusion that there was only one way to stop Ethan’s machinations. Spike was right – he would have to be put down.

Willow would wring her hands, and Xander would spout his self-righteous nonsense, but neither of them knew Ethan like he did. Ethan’s life was never going to have a happy ending.

Giles made himself raise his head from his hands. Could he actually snuff out the life of his ex-lover? His one-time best friend? His partner in crime?

Taking a deep breath, Giles came to the only conclusion he could.


	18. One for the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken and paraphrased from the episode _A New Man_ , by Jane Espenson.

Giles picked his way carefully through the crowd outside the Fish Tank. To the left of him, there were drunks puking up cheap drinks. To the right there were couples in various stages of coupling. Loud, raucous music poured from the repeatedly opening door.

“The things I do in the service of humanity,” Giles muttered to himself as he made his way inside. “I’m getting too bloody old for this.

He scanned the room, looking for Ethan, and not finding him. He made his way to an empty table and sat down to wait. His demeanor was placid – his features carefully radiating calm – while his right hand was busy fiddling with a glass vial.

A waitress in a barely-there leather skirt and skimpy tube top stopped by, asking for his order.

“Scotch, please,” he said, watching with distaste as she wiped down the table with a dirty rag. “Single malt, top shelf if you have.”

“Make that two, darling,” Ethan’s smarmy voice rang out behind him. “Put it on my mate’s tab, like a good girl.”

“So, Rupes,” he said as he sat down. “You decided to go slumming with us low-lives? To what do I owe this honor?”

Giles waited until the waitress placed two glasses down in front of them.

“Leave the bottle, won’t you?” Ethan asked, swatting the waitress on the backside as she moved away. “Oh, Rupert – if looks could kill, eh? Remember when we had them all falling all over us?”

“We’ve changed,” Giles sighed. “Well, not you… you're still just as sadistic and self-centered.”

Ethan picked up his glass and held it out towards Giles. “Here’s to me!” He reached to clink their drinks together with a sad smile on his lined face.

“The world has passed us by,” Giles said, defeated. “Someone snuck in and left a couple of has-beens in our place.”

“You, maybe.” Ethan laughed, tossing back yet another drink. “I’m still in the middle of it all.”

Raising his own glass to his lips, Giles asked, “Just tell me what you’re doing there… in a fancy club catering to demons. I know that the chips implanted in your patrons are your doing. And I can smell your signature on them a mile away.”

“Oh, so crass. We used to be friends, Ripper,” Ethan teased. “When did all that fall apart?”

“The same time you started to worship chaos.”

“I seem to recall a similar conversation a while back. Nothing new to say?” Ethan threw back his fourth glass since sitting down. “There are lots of big mucky-mucks hanging around, all with big plans of their own. They need knowledgeable folk to make their ideas come to fruition.”

“And you’re the wizard for the job?”

“The one and only.” Ethan fake-tipped a hat. “Those chips are a bit of genius, if I say so myself. The amount of power they’re capable of siphoning off without harm is amazing. You wouldn’t believe the black market for the stuff.”

Giles looked at his old friend, incredulous. “Do you even have a clue as to what’s being done with it?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. As long as I’m paid – and I’m being very well compensated for my time, believe me – everyone else can go worship Janus.”

Giles had heard enough. With a wave towards the bar, he said, “Why don’t you see if you still have it, old man? Go see if you can charm a phone number from our waitress.”

“You think I can’t?” Ethan asked, taking the bait and eager to preen as always. “I’ll be back, quick as a wink, with her number in my pocket.”

While Ethan was off flirting for all he was worth, Giles surreptitiously emptied the vial into the other man’s glass and poured another measure of scotch for the both of them.

“It was touch and go for a bit, but…” Ethan crowed, triumphantly waving a fluorescent green post-it note complete with number.

“A toast, then,” Giles offered, raising his own glass. “Even though I’m going to feel like hell in the morning.”

“Relax, old man. We’re a couple of sorcerers – the night is still our time. Time of magic,” Ethan said, downing his drink in a single swallow.

“Nothing to worry about, mate,” Giles said, a look of regret on his face. “When you were off sniffing around the waitress, I poured a measure of poison into your drink. You’ll be dead shortly.”

“Still following my lead, eh Ripper?” Ethan slurred. “Last time I turned you into a Fyarl demon. What’s it gonna be for me?”

Giles smile was small and melancholy, sorry that it had come to this, but what was done, was done. “Relax, Ethan,” he said, softly. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“Still the kidder,” Ethan laughed. His next breath was labored, and he struggled to draw in another. He leaned into the back corner of the booth as his muscles grew lax. “Really, Ripper? You’ve actually done for me? I didn’t think you had it in you anymore.”

“You’re too much of a wildcard to be allowed to roam free anymore, my old friend. It didn’t have to be this way, but you never learn.” Giles covered Ethan’s hand on the table, holding it as his life slipped away. It ended with a whimper, and Giles closed his eyes and breathed deep. It was done.

“Oi, Rupert,” the harsh baritone of Buffy’s annoying vampire rang in his ears. “What are you doin’ in these parts?”

“Just taking care of business, Spike. None of your concern, really.”

“Aren’t you gonna introduce your mate?” Spike said, brows drawn in a serious expression.

“Spike, Ethan. Ethan, Spike,” Giles said, perfunctorily. “I’m afraid you’re not gonna get much of a response from him.”

“He’s dead, you know.”

The corner of Spike’s mouth turned up a little. “And you’re pissed to the gills, aren’t you?”

“I am, indeed.”

“C’mon, then. Up you go,” Spike said, hauling Giles up by the arms. “Least I can do is make sure you get home safe and sound. Buffy would have my guts for garters if I let anything happen to you.”

“That’s quite kind of you, sir,” Giles agreed, stumbling slightly as he followed Spike towards the door. “I’m sure Ethan will be well taken care of when the table is needed.”

Giles tripped as they exited the building and gratefully accepted the support when Spike moved to keep him upright.

“Tis done,” Giles murmured.

“And done quickly,” Spike concurred.


	19. Full House

“I can’t believe he did that,” Buffy murmured, low enough for Spike’s hearing only. “Giles had always preached ‘human laws were for human criminals;’ it’s not for us to dictate their fate.”

“For you, kitten.” Spike stroked her hair and cuddled her close to his chest. “He didn’t want you to bear the weight of the decision; to make you responsible for taking a human life.”

“But – but – _he_ did it!” she said, tears threatening. “And he’ll have to carry the stain of murder around on his soul for the rest of his life.”

“He knew that when he acted. He also knew, better than anyone what that Rayne bloke was capable of; knew there was no alternative.” Spike took her face in his hands, looking deeply into her wet, hazel eyes. “From the look of things, the git went peacefully. They looked like any old couple at a bar, discussin’ the ways of things. I’m sure Giles took it all into consideration before he acted.”

The way he looked at her, Buffy was sure Spike had more to say.

Sure enough, moment later, he added, “Besides, I don’t think it’s the first time he’s gone down that road. He’s a pragmatic sort – does what needs to be done. And if his tales of demon summoning are to be believed…”

Buffy sighed, knowing he was probably right. Spike was always good at reading people, too good at times.

Xander spoke up from his seat across the room. “Wanna fill the rest of us in? You look like someone’s best friend died.”

Spike looked at Xander, his eyebrow raised in an eloquent statement.

“Oh god,” he muttered. “I guess I put my big old foot in my mouth once again.”

Willow connected some of the dots. “So, congratulations are in order, then – you two took out the Big Bad, and now we’re all good? Sunnydale is safe for children and puppies?”

“They didn’t do it,” Anya commented, looking at the couple in question. “Spike’s not crowing and Buffy looks completely miserable. Those are not the recognizable expressions of victory.”

“So, who did?” Xander asked, looking totally perplexed.

“I did,” Giles announced as he entered the living room. “The man was my responsibility, and I knew what had to be done.”

Willow stared in disbelief. “So you took the life of your friend?”

“Ethan Rayne – the friend of my youth – has been gone for a long time,” Giles murmured, slumping into the couch. “What was left wasn’t fit for man or demon; he was totally out of control. He had no care nor remorse for his actions, and I couldn’t let that stand. The acts he could still have committed in the future were too grim to consider.”

“But you said–”

“That’s enough, Willow!” Giles raised his voice. “What’s done cannot be undone. Please have the decency to respect my decision.”

Willow sank back into the cushions, cowed by his harsh tone.

“W-we’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Giles,” Tara said, softly. “If there’s anything we can do to make things easier…”

“Thank you, Tara,” Giles said, his temper back under control. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing to be done. Ethan… Ethan would have flamed out eventually on his own. At least now, he can no longer take anyone else with him.”

Buffy walked over to beleaguered man and hugged him as gently as she could. “You didn’t have to do it, Giles. At the very least, Spike would have had no qualms doing the job. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for you to… to… to an old friend.”

“Ah, my Buffy,” Giles sighed, returning her hug. “Believe it or not, the decision wasn’t as difficult as one might think. This had been coming for a long time. I knew it, years ago, when he was just a callow youth… and I ran from him. This was, finally, my mistakes coming home to roost.”

~*~

Patrolling the warehouse district, Spike and Buffy arrived at The Crazy Eights.

“Well, will you look at that,” Spike said, staring intently at his old factory building.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, pet. Absolutely nothing, as in the glamour used to disguise the club is completely gone.”

“Do you think they’ve abandoned the place?” Buffy asked, hopeful hazel eyes meeting Spike’s.

“Let’s find out,” he said, heading to the door. It opened easily – no remnants of the lock system in place.

“It’s empty!” Buffy exclaimed. “It’s just as run-down and filthy as it was when you and…”

“Dru and Angelus,” Spike completed for her.

“Right… when you all camped here for the first time.”

“I’d say this is good news. I’m sure your Watcher will be thrilled; he literally brought down the house.”

“It might perk up his spirits a teensy bit to know his sacrifice wasn’t in vain,” Buffy added. “No matter what he says, he’s mourning the man he used to know.”

“How could he not?” Spike agreed. “Just ‘cause someone goes off the rails, doesn’t mean you forget the good times. One day after another is how he’ll get by, and eventually the pain he carries will be relegated to a back shelf.”

They walked along in silence for a bit, and somehow managed to end up in Restfield Cemetery. 

“Looks like home,” Spike said, his head tilting in the direction of his crypt. “Smells like home, too.”

Buffy pouted. It had only been less than a handful of days, but she’d begun to think of her home as Spike’s, as well. And it bothered her that he didn’t feel the same.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” he asked.

“I was just sorta hoping you were getting comfortable at my home… maybe enough to want to stay?”

“Wouldn’t want to inconvenience your mum, love. She didn’t offer her home up to me for the duration, just a few days.”

“But Mom likes you,” Buffy pressed. “I know she wouldn’t mind. Why don’t we go and ask her?”

Spike sighed, and shook his head. “It isn’t fair putting your mum into a corner. She’ll take one look at your face and not be able to deny you anything.”

“Oh, please!” Buffy laughed. “She’s been able to deny me lots of things. No trouble with deny-age. I promise! But if we don’t ask…”

“Why don’t we let a few days go by and see what she has to say, hmm?”

Buffy frowned. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not coming back home to stay tonight?”

“Was plannin’ to walk you home, as I would do any night,” he said softly, “but I _was_ gonna come back here for the night – give you a little space.”

“I don’t _want_ space!” Buffy was adamant, stomping her foot like a child. “The Big Bad is dead, Giles needs time to come to terms with his actions, and I want to explore our closeness. Separation and Spike are unmixy things.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, love.” He smiled at her, fondly. “I’m sure you can feel that.”

She nodded, keeping silent and feeling unaccountably miserable.

“Oh, look at that lip,” he said, hands guiding her face to his. “Gonna get it,” were his last words before his lips met hers in a soft kiss.

Buffy couldn’t help herself. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss – her tongue breaking the seal of his lips, to tangle with his.

He couldn’t resist her aggressive moves, matching her beat for beat, his tongue tangoing with hers, hugging her tightly to his body.

“All right, you’ve won,” he conceded when he pulled back. “Leaving you now is the last thing on my mind. Want to christen the crypt before we head back to Revello?”

“I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful–”

Whatever she was about to say was swallowed up in another soul satisfying kiss, as Spike scooped her up and carried her into the crypt. Going home would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. The tale has been told. Hope you found it worth your while to follow Buffy and Spike's journey towards each other. Peace, out!


End file.
